.IBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CAL  [FORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


The  IPorld 
Through  Mother's  Qlasses 

and 

Other  Poems 

Bq 

Emma  L.  Miller 


Jl.  K.  Tate  &.  Son 

Publishers 
908  S.  Hope  St.,  Los  Anqeles 


Dedication 

To  the  Qreat  body  of  Splendid  Alumnae 

of  the 
Baptist  Missionary  Training  School 

the  IDorld  Ouer 
This  Uolume  is  Affectionately  Dedicated 


EMMA  L.  MILLER 


611156 

UKRAB 


Preface 

After  the  home-going  of  the  author  of  this  little  collection  of 
poems,  some  of  her  friends,  who  have  known  her  best,  expressed  a 
desire  that  her  poems,  that  had  been  written  during  the  busy  years 
of  her  missionary  life,  might  be  put  into  a  permanent  form.  Think 
ing  also  that  her  many  friends,  who  knew  her  less  intimately,  might 
desire  to  know  her  better  through  the  medium  of  these  written 
lines,  this  little  book  has  found  its  excuse  for  being. 

Writing  poetry  was  not  the  author's  vocation,  but  her  in 
spiration,  urged  on  to  expression  by  some  event  in  her  own  life, 
or  that  of  her  family,  her  church,  her  native  land  or  her  world, 
which  was  as  broad  as  God's  world. 

The  collection  and  arrangement  of  the  material  for  this  little 
volume  has  been  a  labor  of  love,  and  it  is  sent  forth  with  the  hope 
that  the  perusal  of  its  pages  may  inspire  others  to  be  dominated 
by  the  high  ideals  and  spirit  of  sacrificial  service  that  was  always 
manifested  in  the  life  of  the  Author. 


The  Storq  of  Mq  Life 

Extracts  from  a  sketch  of  the  life  of  Miss  Emma  Miller, 
written  by  herself  at  the  close  of  the  first  twenty-five  years  of  her 
service  under  the  Board  of  the  Woman's  Baptist  Home  Mission 
Society. 

"Please  write  us  your  life  and  your  labors," 

So  came  the  request  one  day, 
'Of  your  twenty-five  years  full  of  service 
Tell  the  story  and  send  right  away. ' ' 

I  shrink  from  the  task  and  I  wonder 

What  interest  people  will  take 
In  a  story  of  life  and  of  labors 

I  am  honestly  able  to  make. 

I  shrink  from  the  task  and  I  tremble, 
Lest  boasting  should  here  find  a  place, 

And   should   mar   what   would   otherwise    witness 
To  the  Father's  unmerited  grace. 

And  how  shall  I  tell  the  life  story, 

Giving  credit  to  home,  school  and  friends, 

And  all  of  God  's  agents  in  training, 
For  worthy  and  meaningful  ends. 

And  how  shall  I  tell  of  the  labors, 

So  varied  in  place  and  in  kind, 
For  this  task  now  imposed  by  another, 

Some  way  to  perform  I  may  find. 

And  now  just  a  hope  by  its  author, 

That  wherever  this  leaflet  may  rove, 
To  all  may  it  bring  inspiration, 

To  a  worthier  service  of  love. 

The  story  of  a  life, — who  can  understand  without  knowing 
something  of  the  influences  that  have  come  into  it,  of  the  ideals 
that  have  inspired  it,  of  the  choices  that  have  led  to  achievement, 
of  tht  failures  that  have  humbled,  and  the  successes  that  have  led 
to  greater  effort. 

What  led  this  scribe  into  missionary  work?  There  were  many 
influences  tending  toward  it,  but  the  most  positive  and  constant 
influence  was  that  of  my  Christian  home  and  my  devoted  mis 
sionary  mother  whose  spirit  was  filled  with  the  missionary  idea. 

And  what  has  been  my  training  for  missionary  work?  Much 
that  came  in  the  early  years  all  unconsciously.  My  country  home 
was  one  of  the  best  type  where  a  variety  of  industries  were  taught 
and  I  learned  to  do  and  to  love  every  kind  of  work  that  a  woman 
needs  for  homemaking.  Here,  too,  was  laid  the  foundation  of  my 
love  for  Nature  in  all  her  varying  beauty  which  country  life  in 
Wisconsin  afforded,  my  knowledge  of  animal  life  of  every  de- 


scription,  and  my  fondness  for  the  cultivation  of  plants  and 
flowers.  Love  for  music  and  good  literature  in  the  home,  com 
bined  with  the  Christian  spirit  of  that  home,  glorified  and  ennobled 
the  everyday  toil  and  made  life  and  labor  a  joy  and  not  a  burden. 

After  completing  the  grade  work  of  the  public  school  and 
some  advance  work  in  two  schools  of  higher  grade  near  my  home, 
Marshall,  Wis.,  I  spent  several  years  in  teaching,  then  entered 
Wayland  Academy,  Beaver  Dam,  Wis.,  where  all  my  impulses 
toward  a  full  and  useful  life  were  quickened,  broadened  and  in 
tensified.  Thinking  after  graduation  here  that  my  student  life 
in  school  was  over  I  again  entered  into  teaching,  first  in  Way- 
land  Academy  and  later  at  The  Cedar  Valley  Seminary,  Osage, 
Iowa.  During  these  years  the  conviction  was  growing  that  I 
ought  to  give  myself  to  some  distinctive  line  of  Christian  service, 
and  I  entered  the  Baptist  Missionary  Training  School,  Chicago, 
for  further  preparation.  After  graduating  from  this  institution 
I  was  sent  by  the  Woman  's  Baptist  Home  Mission  Society  to  open 
a  new  mission  in  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  but  was  not  long  per 
mitted  to  remain  there  for  the  Society  soon  called  me  to  return 
to  Chicago  as  Associate  Preceptress  of  the  Training  School,  a  posi 
tion  I  held  for  three  years.  These  years  of  close  association  with 
Miss  Burdette  and  others  in  the  work  were  of  great  value  to  me 
and  helped  to  prepare  for  service  that  was  awaiting  elsewhere. 

The  growing  work  of  the  W.  B.  H.  M.  S.  demanded  that  its 
interests  should  be  represented  and  its  work  organized  in  the 
West  and  on  the  Pacific  Coast,  and  I  was  appointed  Superintendent 
of  Missions  in  the  West,  where  for  seven  continuous  years  I 
labored  to  inspire  and  organize  the  women  in  missionary  en 
deavor. 

Looking  back  from  the  present  to  those  days  of  beginnings  I 
can  but  thank  God  that  He  gave  me  the  privilege  of  seven  happy 
years  in  helping  to  lay  foundations  that  have  remained. 

At  the  close  of  my  seven  years  of  service  on  the  Pacific  Coast 
the  Board  of  the  W.  B.  H.  M.  S.  asked  me  to  enter,  tempo»arily, 
the  position  of  Preceptress  of  the  Missionary  Training  School  at 
Shaw  University,  Kaleigh,  N.  C.  This  was  the  first  Training 
School  for  Colored  Women  and  was  begun  as  an  experiment  in  a 
new  field,  and  what  seemed  to  be  a  temporary  service  held  me 
for  fourteen  years,  ten  at  Ealeigh  and  four  at  Dallas,  Texas,  in 
the  same  lines  of  work. 

Although  I  had  previously  had  considerable  Bible  study  yet 
I  felt  the  need  of  more,  and  as  the  summer  vacation  was  long 
it  gave  me  the  opportunity  that  I  had  long  coveted  of  studying 
at  the  Divinity  School  of  the  University  of  Chicago  where  I  spent 
five  consecutive  summers  and  took  correspondence  work  besides. 
This  enabled  me  to  complete  the  English  Theological  Seminary 

8 


course  and  graduate  from  the  University.  These  were  years  of  the 
closest  application  to  study  and  teaching  and  were  filled  with  joy 
and  appreciation  for  such  a  privilege.  Some  other  summers  were 
spent  in  other  special  preparation,  and  one  summer  was  spent  in 
Palestine  where  I  had  the  privilege  of  studying  at  first  hand  the 
land  of  Old  and  New  Testament  History.  I  had  long  hoped  and 
planned  for  such  a  trip,  and  the  knowledge  thus  gained  has  been 
a  great  help  in  teaching.  I  have  tried  in  various  ways  to  pass 
on  to  others  the  blessings  that  have  thus  eome  to  me,  and  have 
proved  the  words  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  "It  is  more  blessed  to  give 
than  to  receive." 

And  what  of  the  young  women  who  have  gone  out  from  our 
school  during  the  years.  Sixty-four  students  have  been  graduated 
besides  many  who  have  taken  a  partial  course  in  the  school. 
They  have  come  to  us  from  eighteen  different  states,  from  Canada 
and  from  Africa.  They  have  remained  with  us  from  two  to  four 
years  before  graduation  and  then  have  gone  forth  to  effective 
work  in  the  religious,  moral  and  social  uplift  of  their  own  people 
in  this  country,  while  four  have  gone  as  missionaries  to  Africa. 

At  the  close  of  these  years  in  the  Training  School  the  way 
opened  to  return  to  California  where  a  year  has  been  spent  in 
work  in  a  new  mission  among  the  Syrians  and  other  foreign  na 
tionalities.  When  a  call  came  to  become  Preceptress  and  Bible 
Teacher  at  Selma  University,  Selma,  Alabama,  I  felt  that  it  offered 
an  opportunity  to  do  the  kind  of  work  that  I  most  loved  and  was 
best  fitted  for,  and  now  my  face  is  set  toward  this  large  institu 
tion  of  over  600  pupils  where  I  am  to  have  charge  of  the  Bible 
work  of  the  entire  school  with  two  associates  in  other  lines  of 
work.  What  the  future  holds  I  do  not  know,  but  trust  it  to  the 
hands  of  Him  who  has  led  thus  far. 

EMMA  L.  MILLER. 

(This  story  of  Miss  Miller's  life  necessarily  had  to  be  finished 
by  another  hand. — Editor.) 

Miss  Miller  bore  the  commission  of  the  Woman 's  Baptist  Home 
Mission  Society  for  thirty-seven  years,  the  last  ten  of  which  were 
spent  in  work  for  the  Eussian  people  of  Los  Angeles,  California. 

She  found  the  work  greatly  hindered  for  lack  of  a  chapel,  and 
with  the  consent  of  the  Board  she  personally  solicited  sufficient 
funds  to  build  a  small  chapel.  This  equipment  greatly  increased 
her  efficiency  and  enabled  her  to  add  many  new  and  helpful  fea 
tures  to  the  work  and  everything  looked  hopeful  when  a  sad  day 
came.  The  telephone  rang  and  a  Eussian  child 's  voice  said  between 
her  sobs:  "O,  Miss  Miller,  the  Sunday  School  is  burning  up."  She 
hastened  down  to  find  the  chapel  with  all  its  contents  burned  to 
the  ground.  A  group  of  children  gathered  around  her,  and  to 
gether  they  wept  over  their  loss. 

9 


Nothing  daunted,  a  small  building  was  rented  and  the  work 
went  on.  The  fire  raised  friends  for  the  mission  and  ere  many 
months  a  new  and  commodious  chapel  with  a  fine  equipment  for 
work  was  dedicated  and  a  Russian  Baptist  pastor  was  secured. 
Miss  Miller  early  saw  that  the  hope  of  the  Mission  was  in  the 
children  and  young  people,  as  the  grown  people  were  exceedingly 
tenacious  of  the  old  ways,  so  she  was  constantly  adding  new 
features  to  the  work  to  interest  and  hold  the  children  and  young 
people.  With  the  assistance  of  volunteer  workers  she  carried  on 
Industrial  schools,  boys  and  girls  clubs,  young  women's  clubs, 
cooking  schools,  millinery  classes,  classes  for  teaching  English, 
special  meetings  for  the  boys  and  girls,  a  young  people's  society, 
women  's  meetings  and  many  other  forms  of  activity. 

Into  all  these  varied  activities  she  always  put  the  best  there 
was  in  her.  She  surely  could  say  with  Paul  "As  much  as  in  me 
is,  I  am  ready."  Later  she  opened  another  mission  two  miles 
distant,  where  there  was  another  large  group  of  Russians.  Here 
nearly  all  these  varied  activities  were  duplicated,  nearly  doubling 
the  work.  This  drew  very  largely  on  her  strength  and  vitality 
and  almost  unconsciously  to  herself  and  to  her  friends  disease 
laid  its  hand  upon  her.  And  while  she  desired  to  live  and  labor 
on,  if  it  was  the  Lord 's  will  she  knew  that  her  beloved  work  would 
he  well  cared  for  by  others  after  she  was  gone,  and  she  was  satis 
fied. 

Her  illness  was  long  and  full  of  pain  and  suffering,  but  at  the 
last  she  quietly  and  peacefully  fell  "asleep  in  Jesus."  Her 
funeral,  which  was  held  in  the  Russian  chapel,  was  attended  by 
the  people  whom  she  had  helped,  the  children  she  had  taught  and 
a  host  of  friends  from  all  parts  of  the  city.  In  a  quiet  spot  in  one 
of  Los  Angeles'  most  beautiful  cemeteries  she  was  laid  to  rest 
surrounded  by  the  everlasting  hills. 

Brief  extracts  from  some  of  the  many  tributes  to  the  character 
and  work  of  Miss  Emma  Miller: 

In  the  home-going  of  Miss  Emma  Miller,  the  Los  Angeles 
Baptist  City  Mission  Society  has  lost  one  of  its  most  faithful 
workers. 

Miss  Miller's  associates  in  missionary  work  were  always  im 
pressed  with  her  loyalty  to  Christ  and  the  remarkable  spirit  of  self- 
denial  which  she  carried  into  all  of  her  work.  Nothing  seemed  too 
hard  for  her,  and  no  opportunity  of  service  too  small  for  her  finest 
effort.  Her  self-sacrificing  spirit  won  the  confidence  of  the  people 
among  whom  she  labored  and  bore  constant  testimony  to  the 
genuineness  of  her  Christian  life  and  character. 

Rev.  J.  B.  Fox, 

Superintendent  and  Executive  Secretary  of  the  Los 
Angeles  Baptist  City  Mission  Society. 

10 


Her's  has  been  a  victorious  life,  the  Society  has  been  honored 
in  having  her  as  a  missionary  and  co-worker.  Her  fruitful  service 
was  possible,  because  of  her  deep  devotion  to  her  Master,  and 
because  of  her  great  love  for  needy  people. 

Katherine  8.  Westfall, 
Executive  Secretary,  W.  A.  B.  H.  M.  S. 


We  have  lost  a  great  woman  in  the  going  of  Miss  Emma  Miller. 
She  was  great  in  her  keenness  of  judgment,  great  in  her  com 
pelling  foreefulness,  great  in  leadership,  great  in  the  choosing  and 
holding  of  volunteer  workers  on  her  field;  great  in  her  loyalty  to 
the  Woman's  American  Baptist  Home  Mission  Society  whose  com 
mission  she  held  for  thirty-seven  years  of  efficient  service;  great 
in  her  love  of  the  people  among  whom  she  worked.  Most  of  all 
she  was  great  in  her  consecration  to  Jesus  Christ,  her  Lord.  I  am 
glad  to  bear  testimony  to  the  inspiration  she  was  to  me  personally. 

Ina  Shaw, 
Missionary  Supervisor,  Western  District,  W.  A.  B.  H.  S. 


Eesolved,  that  we  express  our  sincere  gratitude  to  almighty 
God,  for  lending  to  us  this  choice  life  for  so  long  a  period,  for 
the  helpful  enthusiasm,  inspiration  and  devotion  to  duty  which 
she  has  contributed  to  those  who  have  been  privileged  to  come 
under  the  influence  of  her  life,  for  the  splendid  type  of  Christian 
womanhood  which  has  been  revealed  through  the  pages  of  our 
associational  organ  and  for  her  devoted  service  to  the  cause  of  our 
Alma  Mater. 

Baptist  Missionary  Training  School  Alumnae  Association. 


The  sweet  perfume  of  her  memory  will  linger  until  we  greet 
her  in  the  land  of  fadeless  day.  She  was  a  choice  vessel  of  the 
Lord. 

Lyde  Jenkins. 
(Class  of  1904.) 


Miss  Emma  Miller  was  a  woman  of  rare  strength  of  character, 
an  organizer  and  an  educator.  A  natural  and  untiring  student  her 
self  she  knew  how  to  impart  the  knowledge  and  to  inspire  others 
with  a  like  ambition  for  advancement.  Although  quiet  in  her 
personality  she  was  forceful  and  strong  in  her  convictions  and 
made  her  influence  felt  wherever  she  went. 

Rose  L.  Boynton, 

Toll  House,  Calif. 
(Class  of  1899.)  Sycamore  Mission. 

11 


A  great  woman  who  always  lived  with  the  lowly  has  gone 
from  us. 

All  missionaries  have  lost  a  constant  and  faithful  friend  and 
the  people  among  whom  she  spent  her  rare  and  beautiful  life  have 
lost  a  counsellor  and  guide  hard  to  find. 

Mary  Carr  Merrit, 

210  S.  Louise  St., 
(Class  of  1887.)  Glendale,  Calif. 


I  think  of  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  First  Corinthians  in  con 
nection  with  her  life.  She  was  like  "the  shadow  of  a  great  rock 
in  a  weary  land"  to  me  many  times  in  the  years  that  are  gone. 
Heaven  is  surely  the  richer  as  earth  is  the  poorer  for  her  home- 
going. 

May  C.  Hamilton. 
(Class  of  1895.) 


Miss  Miller  had  sanctified  common  sense,  so  necessary  in  our 
work,  and  since  she  possessed  so  large  a  measure  of  the  Spirit  of 
her  Master,  she  was  modest  and  unassuming  in  manner. 

I  can  still  see  that  face  aglow  with  interest  in  the  Master 's 
Kingdom.  When  next  we  meet  it  will  be  among  the  throng  of 
the  redeemed  from  all  the  earth;  there  we  shall  meet  her  with 
many  whom  she  has  shown  the  way  to  God. 

Hannah  L.  Seils, 
(Class  of  1884.)  North  Freedom,  Wis. 


She  was  the  engine  which  kept  the  machinery  going  in  our 
Alumnae,  Echoes,  and  other  missionary  activities. 

Mildred  Garstang, 
(Class  of  1911.)  Associate  Editor  of  Echoes. 


She  laid  a  good  foundation  and  the  influence  of  her  work  and 
teaching  will  be  long  felt  in  the  community.  I  feel  that  I  per 
sonally  owe  a  great  deal  to  her  ripe  judgment  and  experience,  her 
sturdy  independence  and  sound  common  sense,  her  loyal  spirit  and 
good  fellowship.  She  will  be  much  missed. 

Euth  Price, 
Bussian  Mission,  Los  Angeles,  Calif. 


Missionary  Qroup 


THE   WORLD   THROUGH   MOTHER'S   GLASSES 

As  I  rummaged  a  bureau  drawer  one  day 

In  search  of  some  hidden  treasure, 

My  Mother 's  glasses  came  to  view, 

And  filled  me  with  sad,  sweet  pleasure. 

The  tear  drops  gathered  in  my  eyes, 

Like  dew  upon  the  grasses, 

I  brushed  them  away,  and  the  world  was  new, 

As  I  looked  through  Mother's  glasses. 

She  loved  to  look  on  the  brighter  side, 

To  hope  in  each  true  endeavor; 

Her  courage  was  high  and  her  faith  was  strong, 

And  she  yielded  to  gloom,  no  never. 

Her  words  of  cheer  to  the  world  were  these, 

"Catch  the  sunshine  as  it  passes," 

And  the  world  grows  brighter  day  by  day, 

As  I  look  through  Mother 's  glasses. 

She  never  grew  old,  for  she  gathered  the  youth, 

Her  own  and  the  next-door  neighbor's, 

And  they  flocked  with  joy  to  her  cheerful  home, 

At  the  close  of  her  daily  labors. 

Her  heart  was  young  and  her  face  was  fair, 

And  she  loved  the  lads  and  lasses, 

And  the  world  grows  younger  day  by  day, 

As  I  look  through  Mother's  glasses. 

She  was  never  sent  by  a  Mission  board 

To  a  far-off  land  or  city, 

And  yet  for  the  erring,  and  sad,  and  lost, 

She  was  filled  with  a  tender  pity; 

And  she  gathered  all  to  her  heart  of  love, 

From  the  high  or  the  lower  classes, 

And  the  world  grows  kinder  day  by  day, 

As  I  look  through  Mother 's  glasses. 

She  climbed  to  the  mountain  tops  of  earth 
To  view  the  world  and  its  people, 
And  caught  the  light  of  the  coming  day 
Like  the  summit  of  yonder  steeple; 
Because  of  her  view  she  labored  best 
In  the  darksome  caves  and  passes, 
And  the  world  grows  larger  day  by  day, 
As  I  look  through   Mother 's  glasses. 

She  had  hope  for  all  and  a  faith  sublime, 
And  believed  that  a  great  salvation 
Would  come  to  all,  were  the  gospel  sent 
To  every  land  and  nation. 
She  looked  for  the  dawn  of  a  brighter  day 
When  the  kingdom  should  come  to  the  masses, 
And  the  world  grows  better  day  by  day, 
As  I  look  through  Mother's  glasses. 

15 


My  friend,  are  you  hopeless,  and  gloomy,  and  sad? 

Are  you  lone  and  melancholy? 

Does  the  world  look  blue,  and  dark,  and  cold? 

Is  it  full  of  sin  and  folly? 

Are  you  sinking  deep  in  the  slough  of  despair? 

Come  out  from  the  dank  morasses, 

Come  up  to  the  higher  ground  of  hope, 

Throw  away  your  old  blue  glasses. 

Are  you  sure  that  the  world  is  growing  worse? 

Is  it  sure  to  end  in  disaster? 

You  forget  that,  "I  am  the  light  of  the  world," 

Were  the  words  of  our  Lord  and  Master. 

Gather  up  all  the  signs  of  the  coming  day, 

As  the  merchant  his  wealth  amasses, 

Look  out  on  the  world  with  the  eye  of  faith, 

Wipe  the  dust  from  off  your  glasses. 

You  never  can  hope  to  win  the  world 

To  a  life  of  love  and  beauty, 

While  your  own  face  wears  a  look  of  gloom 

From  a  stern  hard  sense  of  duty. 

Do  you  eateh  the  flies  that  infest  your  home 

With  vinegar  or  molasses? 

Then  win  the  world  with  love  and  cheer. 

Put  on  rose-colored  glasses. 

Do  you  know  that  this  is  a  day  of  hope, 

A  day  of  high  endeavor; 

Have  faith  in  God  that  the  right  will  win, 

And  yield  to  dispair,  no  never. 

Don't  live  in  the  dark  and  the  bright  sun  hide, 

Don't  take  subterranean  gasses, 

Do  you  wish  to  look  on  the  brighter  side? 

I  will  loan  you  Mother's  glasses. 

Lodi,  Wis,  1912. 


ECHOES  OF  B.  M.  T.  8. 

Voices,  gentle  voices  from  the  long  ago, 
Voices,  loving  voices  Echo  sweet  and  love, 
Voices,  vibrant  voices  waking  memories  dear, 
Hark!  I  hear  the  Echoes  from  the  far  and  near. 
Voices,  gladsome  voices  over  land  and  sea, 
Whence  can  be  these  Echoes  coming  now  to  me, 
Coming  too  from  heaven,  past  the  storm  and  stress, 
These  must  be  the  Echoes  of  B.  M.  T.  S. 

From  the  sunny  South  land,  from  the  golden  West, 
Where  our  missionaries  go  at  heaven's  behest, 
From  our  eastern  border,  from  our  northern  plain, 
From  the  lands  of  sorrow,  woe,  and  want,  and  pain — 
India  and  Burmah,  China  and  Japan, 
Africa,  Alaska,  nations,  tribe,  and  elan — 
From  the  lands  of  turmoil,  where  they  toil  to  bless, 
Echo  they  the  praises  of  B.  M.  T.  S. 

16 


Voices  of  fair  maidens,  for  the  wedding  dressed, 
Voices  too  of  babies  on  their  mothers '  breast, 
Cooing,  crying,  laughing,  talking,  more  or  less, 
Can  these  be  the  echoes  of  B.  M.  T.  S.f 
Voices  of  our  "Shut-ins,"  halting  by  the  way, 
While  they  can  not  labor,  they  can  watch  and  pray, 
Called  aside  to  tarry  in  some  sheltered  place, 
May  they  see  the  shining  of  the  Master's  face 

O  beloved  Echoes  from  the  friends  I  love, 
Whether  in  the  earth  life,  or  in  heaven   above, 
Whether  taught,  or  teacher  in  our  Training  School, 
Where  we  dwelt  together,  love  our  Golden  Rule, 
Be  it  mine  to  listen  to  your  music  sweet, 
Till  some  day  in  glory  we  shall  surely  meet, 
Be  it  mine  to  cherish  and  again  express 
The  delightful  Echoes  of  B.  M.  T.  S. 

Loa  Angeles,  California,  1916. 


GLEAM  AND  GLOOM  OF  INDIA 

PART   I. 
Fair  India 

The  gleaming  light  of  India's  Summer  day 

Was  fading  and  a  milder,  softer  hue 
Was  spreading  o'er  the  vaulted  arch  above, 

And  mingling  roseate  tints  with  ether  blue. 
'Twas  time  when  mangoes  redden  in  the  sun 

And  fragrant  flowers  o  'er  hill  and  vale  abound, 
Fair  nature  wears  her  freshest  robes  of  green, 

And  beauty 's  form  is  seen  on  all  around. 

The  day  has  stolen  quietly  away, 

The  sun  has  sunk  to  rest  behind  the  hills; 
The  gentle  dews  are  falling  in  the  vale, 

And  sweetest  perfume  on  the  air  distills. 
As  though  'twere  weary  with  the  hum  of  day, 

A  silence  reigns  o'er  all  the  sleeping  land, 
Save  where  the  cricket  chirps  its  evening  song, 

Or  rustling  leaves  by  breezes  soft  are  fanned. 

Above  the  snow-capped  peaKs  which  heavenward  look, 

The  full-orbed  moon  in  majesty  ascends, 
And,  to  the  scene  within  the  vale  below, 

A  solemn  and  impressive  beauty  lends. 
Such  scene  might  well  inspire  devoutest  praise, 

And  in  the  soul  responsive  echoes  wake 
To  Him  who  loves  and  gives  so  lavishly, 

And  bid  each  heart  its  alabaster  break. 

Through  nature  man  may  look  to  nature's  God, 

And  there  will  find  abundant  source  of  praise, 
Where  nature 's  form  most  perfect  he  beholds 

There  should  he  louder  hallelujahs  raise. 
But  e  'en  in  Eden,  loveliest  vale  of  earth, 

Where  naught  but  purity  had  ever  been, 
Did  evil  enter,  like  a  thief  at  night, 

And  steal  away  the  bliss  which  dwelt  therein. 

17 


PAET   II. 
Dark  India 

Although  fair  India  smile,  an  outward  smile, 

The  eurse  of  sin  is  resting  on  her  brow, 
And  all  her  sons  and  daughters,  high  or  low, 

Behold!  to  heathen  deities  they  bow; 
Nor  own  the  mighty  God  who  gave  them  birth, 

Nor  love  the  one  who  keeps  with  tender  care, 
Nor  know  that   'tis  from  His  almighty  hand 

All  goodness  comes,  all  blessings  rich  and  fair. 

But  some  there  be  that  tell  us  that  of  yore 

"The  Light  of  Asia"  rose  o'er  India's  plain, 
When  great  Lord  Buddah,  savior  of  the  world, 

As  styled  by  some,  began   his  princely  reign. 
If  this  be  so  where  shines  that  light  today? 

In  utter  darkness  has  it  faded  out, 
And,  like  the  meteor's  flash  across  the  sky 

Has  left  its  followers  to  gloom  and  doubt. 

In  hopeless  ignorance  they  struggle  on. 

They  grope  in  darkness  deeper  than  the  night 
Which  settles  thick  and  gloomy  o'er  the  world 

And  leaves  no  star  of  hope,  no  ray  of  light. 
But  you,  for  whom  has  risen  the  glorious  sun, 

And  who  have  felt  sweet  pardon  from  above, 
O  list  in  pity  to  a  tale  of  woe 

From  those  who  know  not  of  a  Savior's  love. 

PAET   III. 
A  Woman  of  India 

Behold!   as  night  comes  on  o'er  India's  plain, 

From  yonder  hovel  underneath  the  hill, 
A  woman  comes  with  cautious  step,  but  firm, 

As  though  each  were  an  effort  of  the  will. 
Her  form  is  slightly  bent,  but  not  by  age; 

Dejection  marks  her  attitude  and  mien; 
While  hopeless  sorrow  and  despairing  woe 

On  every  feature  of  her  face  are  seen. 

Down  to  the  Ganges'  banks  she  wends  her  way, 
Doth  she  come  hither  for  an  evening  bathf 

A  darker  purpose  in  her  face  is  seen, 
She  takes  a  lonely,  unfrequented  path 

Where  none  might  watch  with  curious  eye  the  deed, 
Or  save  her  infant  from  a  watery  grave. 

Her  features  soften  as  she  nears  the  stream 

And  hears  the  lapping  of  its  gentle  wave. 

Upon  her  arm  she  bears  a  sleeping  babe 

O'er  which  her  mother-heart  is  yearning  sore, 
Within  the  soul  of  the  unconscious  child 

Her  depth  of  mother -love  she  longs  to  pour; 
And  though  she  knows  her  darling  heeds  her  not, 

Such  words  of  tender  love  she  whispers  soft, 
As  only  mother's  lips  can  sweetly  frame, 

And  childhood  listens  to  so  oft. 

18 


Fast  on  the  little  face  the  teardrops  fall, 

Then  hastily  she  kisses  them  away, 
Why  do  I  weep  at  parting  from  thee,  child, 

'Tis  better  far  for  thee  to  go  than  stay. 
Earth  has  no  joy  for  such  as  thou  to  feel, 

Earth  has  no  hope  for  such  as  thou  to  know; 
It  has  but  sorrow,  grief,  and  death  at  last 

On  suffering,  hopeless  women  to  bestow. 

We  have  no  souls,  they  tell  us  o'er  and  o'er; 

Why  not  believe  it  and  make  end  of  life; 
It  brings  to  us  no  pleasure,  no  delight, 

But  only  toil,  and  care,  and  endless  strife. 
Our  burdens  are  too  heavy  to  be  borne, 

We  serve,  but  never  in  return  are  served; 
No  lovelight  cheers  our  dark  and  gloomy  way 

We  love,  but  never  in  return  are  loved. 

To  live  and  be  a  woman — nothing  more; 

O  could  you  know,  my  darling,  sinless  one, 
The  deptli  of  misery  that  word  imparts 

To  her  who  dwells   'neath  India's  burning  sun, 
You  fain  would  thank  me  for  the  deed  I  do, 

And  bless  the  hand  which  severs  you  from  life, 
For  it  were  better  far  when  innocent 

To  leave  this  world  of  sin,  and  care,  and  strife. 

Once  more  she  strained  her  darling  to  her  breast, 

And  from  her  heart  was  wrung  a  sudden  cry; 
Then,  fearing  lest  the  sound  arouse  some  foe, 

She  wildly  cast  about  her  watchful  eye. 
She  thrust  her  precious  burden  from  her  arms, 

As  if  by  some  resistless  impulse  stirred, 
And  then  such  bitter  wail  as  rent  the  air, 

Was  scarce  from  suffering  woman  heard. 

Her  long-despairing,  overburdened  heart 

Poured  forth  at  last  its  agony  and  grief, 
And  though  she  wept  till  tears  refused  to  flow, 

Surcease  of  pain  came  not,  nor  sweet  release. 
With  weary  step  she  took  her  homeward  way, 

To  loveless,  joyless  servitude  returned, 
Took  up  the  burden  of  her  life  again, 

In  vain  for  hope,  for  joy,  for  peace  she  yearned. 

PART   IV. 
Light  for  India 

And  shall  it  ever,  evermore  be  thus? 

And  is  it  thus  o'er  India's  plain  today? 
Is  there  no  balm  for  woman's  aching  heart? 

No  light  to  cheer  her  dark  and  gloomy  way 
Not  so!  not  so!  the  answer  comes  from  far; 

Across  the  sea  'tis  borne  by  wind  and  wave, 
Down  from  the  very  courts  of  heaven  above, 

Has  come  a  strong  and  mighty  one  to  aave. 

19 


And  those  who  hear  the  glad  and  joyful  news 

Are  hasting  to  Him  with  their  sin  and  grief, 
And,  casting  at  His  feet  the  heavy  load, 

Are  heard  to  tell  of  joy  and  sweet  relief. 
But  many  are  there  yet  who  never  heard 

The  precious  tidings  of  redeeming  grace, 
Of  peace  and  pardon  through  the  Saviour 's  blood, 

The  blest  redemption  of  the  human  race. 

To  us  is  given  the  precious  privilege 

Of  sending  to  these  lost  the  gospel  light 
To  shed  a  heavenly  radiance  o'er  their  way, 

And  scatter  far  the  gloomy  shades  of  night. 
To  us  'tis  given  to  tell  the  story  sweet, 

Though  oft  by  mortal  lips  it  has  been  told. 
And  yet  for  nineteen  hundred  years  or  more 

Has  never  grown,  and  never  will  grow  old. 

But  ever  new,  at  morn,  or  dewy  eve, 

Alike  o  'er  India 's  heated  plain  or  Lapland  snows, 
Where  Mississippi  rolls  her  waves  along, 

Or  northward  where  the  mighty  Yukon  flows, 
From  north  to  sunny  south,  from  east  to  west, 

In  whatsoe'er  condition  man  is  found, 
That  story  sweet,  which  angels  chanted  first, 

Brings  gladness  to  the  heart  the  world  around. 

PART  V. 

India  Awakening 

(Tune:  Beulah  Land) 

There  is  a  land  far,  far  away, 

A  land  as  beautiful  as  day, 
And  yet  a  darkness,  deep  as  night 

Is  shutting  out  the  heavenly  light. 

O  land  of  superstition 's  reign, 
O  land  of  hunger,  want,  and  pain 

Upon  this  land  of  deep  distress, 
Arise,  O  Sun  of  Righteousness. 

Awake,  O  church,  the  gospel  send, 

Your  prayers  and  alms  together  blend, 

Go  forth  with  message  all  divine, 
And  India  shall  rise  and  shine. 

All  India  shall  soon  awake, 

E'en  now  the  light  begins  to  break, 

Arising  from  thy  slumber  long, 
We  hail  thy  morning  with  a  song. 

Chorus: 
O  India,  fair  India, 

Where  flowers  in  sweet  profusion  grow; 
O  India,  dark  India, 

Where  men  are  lost  in  sin  and  woe, 
The  light,  the  life,  the  truth  well  take, 

To  India,  for  Jesus'  sake. 

Lodi,  Wis.,  1912. 

20 


HASTE  THE  DAY 

Haste  the  day,  the  day  all  glorious, 

Of  the  coming  of  the  King. 
When  through  all  the  heavenly  arches 

Hallelujahs  loud  shall  ring 
For  he   comes,  he  comes  attended, 

By  the   vast   angelic   throng, 
Conies  with  joy  and  exultation, 

Sound  of  trumpet,  shout  and  song. 

Haste  the  day  of  his  appearing, 

Thrones  and  empires  shall  decay. 
And  the  earth  shall  melt  in  fervor, 

And  the  heavens  shall  roll  away; 
Every  knee  shall  bow  before  him, 

Every  tongue  confess  his  power, 
And  acknowledge  him  victorious, 

In  that  great  all-conquering  hour. 

When  the  nations  and  the  kingdoms 

Of  the  earth  have  learned  his  will, 
And  have  bowed  to  do  him  homag«, 

And  his  holy  law  fulfill; 
Then  shall  he  appear  in  glory, 

Seated  on  his  Father's  throne, 
Then  in  righteousness  and  mercy, 

He  shall  reign  and  he  alone. 

Is  the  world  prepared  to  crown  him! 

Have  the  nations  learned  his  will? 
Though  the  glorious  day  is  dawning, 

Millions  sit  in  darkness  still, 
While  to  us  the  great  commission, 

Sounds  more  clearly  than  of  old, 
To  the  twelve  who  loved  and  labored, 

And  with  joy  the  story  told. 

We  may  speed  the  joyful  tidings, 

We  may  haste  the  blessed  day; 
Can  it  be  if  we  are  idle, 

This  his  coming  will  delay? 
Are  there  signs  of  his  appearing, 

Signs  of  promise  and  of  cheer? 
Do  we  hear  his  footsteps  echo, 

Can  it  be  the  day  draws  near? 

Look  at  China's  teeming  millions, 

Circled  by  her  sea  and  wall, 
Filled  with  pride  and  boasted  wisdom, 

Bound  by  superstition  's  thrall, 
Yet  within  this  ancient  empire, 

Stout  against  the  gospel 's  sway. 
There  are  tokens  of  a  yielding, 

Of  a  mighty  giving  way. 

21 


What  can  be  the  wondrous  import, 

Of  these  tidings  from  Japan  T 
Men  are  longing  for  the  Bible, 

For  the  word  of  God  to  man. 
Eager  they  to  hear  the  gospel, 

Glad  to  throw  their  gods  away, 
Bowing  at  the  feet  of  Jesus, 

There  their  load  of  sins  to  lay. 

Do  we  seek  for  signs  of  promise, 

As  the  heathen  world  we  viewT 
We  may  find  them  overflowing, 

In  this  one  word — Telugu. 
Brightest  star  of  foreign  missions, 

Bay  of  light,  and  joy,  and  hope; 
Yet  a  thousand  more  now  glitter, 

Through  faith's  mighty  telescope. 


Is  our  own  beloved  country, 

Beady  now  to  crown  him  King? 
Are  we  watching  for  the  dawning, 

Of  that  day  when  he  will  bring 
To  his  own  complete  redemption, 

Freedom  from  the  power  of  sin, 
When  within  to  realms  of  glory, 

His  beloved  shall  enter  inf 


There  are  many  who  are  watching, 

For  this  glad,  this  crowning  day, 
But  the  people,  Oh,  the  people! 

Who  in  sin  and  darkness  stray, 
And  the  thousands!    Yea,  the  millions! 

In  our  own  dear  native  land, 
Who  have  never  yielded  homage, 

To  this  righteous  King's  demand. 

Are  there  signs  of  hope  and  promise, 

That  this  vast,  this  godless  throng, 
Ever  yet  shall  bow  to  Jesus, 

Ever  join  redemption's  songf 
From  the  sea  coast  of  New  England, 

Where  Atlantic  billows  roar, 
To  the  far-off  peaceful  border, 

Of  our  broad  Pacific  shore. 


From  the  valleys  of  Alaska, 

Where  her  mighty  rivers  flow, 
To  the  mountains  and  the  palm  groves, 

Of  deluded  Mexico, 
Come  in  tones  of  earnest  pleading, 

Echoing  by  day  and  night, 
Voie.es  of  these  blinded  people, 

Asking  for  the  gospel  light. 

22 


Never  such  a  ery  for  workers, 

In  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord; 
Never  such  demand  for  faithful 

Teachers  of  God's  holy  word; 
Never  whiter  fields  of  harvest, 

Glistened  in  the  morning  sun; 
Never  such  a  day  for  missions, 

Since  our  nation's  life  begun. 

God  is  calling  us  to  service, 

'Tis  our  King  who  gives  commands, 

Shall  we,  dare  we,  when  he  calls  us 
Idly  sit  with  folded  hands? 

"North  America  for  Jesus," 

We  '11  proclaim  from  shore  to  shore 

Till  the  gospel  invitation, 

Eings  this  great  Republic  o'er. 

Lo!    We  find  for  our  assurance, 

Plain  upon  the  sacred  page, 
That  the  nations  and  the  kindoms, 

Are  Jehovah's  heritage; 
Though  the  day  may  yet  seem  distant, 

When  the  world  our  Christ  shall  hail, 
None  can  doubt  the  final  issue, 

For  God's  truth,  it  must  prevail. 

Haste  the  day,  the  day  exultant, 

Over  earth,  and  sea,  and  sky, 
With  the  message  of  salvation, 

Quickly  to  the  people  fly, 
Over  all  the  world  triumphant, 

Christ  the  victory  shall  gain, 
Hasten  on  the  final  conflict, 

Usher  in  Messiah  '«  reign. 


Chicago,  111.,  1885. 


HE    LEADETH    ME 

He  leadeth  me  to  service  sweet, 

Where'er  have  passed  His  Weary  feet, 

And  'tis  enough,  enough  for  me, 

That  I,  like  Him,  my  Lord,  should  be. 

He  leadeth  me  to  seek  the  lost, 

And  bring  them  home  at  any  cost, 

O'er  moorland  waste  or  mountain  wild, 
I  go  to  seek  His  wandering  child. 

To  homes  where  prayer  is  never  heard, 
Or  praise  to  God  there  is  no  word, 

His  Holy  Book  is  never  read, 
The  starving  soul  is  never  fed. 


To  homes  where,  comfortless  and  lone 
His  little  ones  neglected  moan, 

Where'er  He  leads  I  fain  would  go, 
With  love  to  comfort  human  woe. 

He  leadeth  me,  He  leadeth  me, 
To  service  sweet  He  leadeth  me, 

And  since  my  Lord  hath  led  the  way, 
I'll  follow  Him  from  day  to  day. 


HF.RT!    AM    I:     SEND    ME 

Isaiah  6:8. 

Hark,  'tis  the  voice,  the  Savior's  voice,  I  hear, 

In  accents  low  'tis  falling  on  my  ear. 
"Whom  shall  I  send  and  who  will  go  for  me? " 

"Who'll  bear  the  gospel  message  over  land  and  seat" 

Whom  shall  I  send  to  valleys  dark  and  deep, 
O'er  sunny  plain  or  rugged  mountain  steep, 

Where  dwell  the  lost  with  sorrow  in  each  breast, 
And  bid  the  weary,  sin-sick  enter  into  rest. 

Whom  shall  I  send  and  who  will  go  today, 

To  lands  where  sin  and  death  their  scepter  sway, 
Who  '11  hold  aloft  the  blessed  gospel  light, 

Dispel  the  gloomy  darkness,  chase  away  the  night  f 

Whom  shall  I  send  to  bear  the  joyful  sound, 
Pardon  and  peace  to  all  the  world  around, 

Sight  to  the  blind,  salvation  to  the  lost, 

Who'll  go  with  love's  own  message,  go  at  any  cost? 

EEFKAIN 
My  Savior  is  calling, 

His  beckoning  hand  I  see, 
I'll  go  with  love's  own  message,  here  am  I,  send  me. 


GO    FORTH    WITH    PEACE 

Go  forth  with  message  from  above: 

Go  forth,  go  forth,  with  peace. 
Go  forth  to  tell  a  Savior's  love, 

That  woes  and  strife  may  cease. 
Go  forth  with  joy  within  thy  heart, 

With  morn's  eternal  bloom; 
Go  forth  with  grace  upon  thy  lips, 

To  lead  the  wanderer  home. 

Go  forth  with  message  all  divine, 

Where  reigns  the  gloom  of  night: 
The  Sun  of  Righteousness  shall  shine, 

And  all  the  sky  be  bright. 
Go  forth  to  strengthen  feeble  hands, 

The  lowly  and  the  meek; 
To  bind  with  love 's  eternal  bands, 

The  wounded  and  the  weak. 

24 


Go  forth  to  give  to  blinded  eyes 

The  blessed  light  of  day; 
Go  forth  to  bid  the  laine  arise 
And  walk  in  wisdom's  way. 
Go  forth  with  praises  to  the  Lord, 

A  song  of  gladness  raise: 
The  deaf  shall  hear  His  Holy  Word, 

The  dumb  shall  sing  His  praise. 

Go  forth  where  hearts  are  full  of  strfe, 

And  whisper,  "Peace,  be  still," 
That  all  may  live  the  better  life, 

And  do  the  Father's  will. 
Go  forth  to  minister  to  all: 

Bid  sin  and  sorrow  cease. 
Go  forth,  it  is  the  Savior's  call: 

Go  forth,  go  forth  with  peace. 


FOLLOWING    JESUS 
Mark  8:34-35. 

Once  the  Savior  bade  His  disciples, 
Who  would  go  with  Him  along  the  way, 
To  deny  themselves  like  their  Master, 
And  to  follow  His  footsteps  day  by  day. 

He  that  loveth  life  more  than  Jesus, 
Spends  the  days  of  earthly  life  in  vain; 
He  that  looseth  life  in  His  service, 
Shall  be  certain  eternal  life  to  gain. 

If  He  left  His  Father  in  glory, 

Came  to  minister  to  human  needs, 

Came  to  comfort  all  in  their  sorrow, 

May  my  life  too  be  filled  with  loving  deeds. 

CHOEUS. 

I  will  follow  where  He  leads  me, 
Though  the  way  may  rough  and  thorny  be; 
It  will  lead  to  life  and  to  beauty, 
Both  for  time  and  for  all  eternity. 


ANSWERED   PRAYER 

To  Thee,  to  Thee,  O  Lord,  my  God, 

I  do  lift  up  my  longing  eyes, 
Through  sorrow,  sin  and  blinding  tears, 
O  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise. 

He  comes  in  answer  to  my  cry; 
He  comes  in  pity  from  above; 
Peace,  to  my  troubled  heart,  He  speaks, 
And  fills  my  soul  with  wondrous  love. 

25 


For  all  my  pain,  He  gives  me  rest; 

For  all  my  weakness,  His  own  might; 
For  all  my  sorrows,  purest  bliss, 

And  for  my  blindness,  gives  me  sight. 

He  bids  me  go  where  others  weep, 

To  others  weary,  lost  in  sin, 
And  tell  them  of  His  boundless  love, 

And  bid  them  let  the  Saviour  in. 

With  such  a  joy  within  my  heart, 
I  '11  spread  the  blessed  tidings  'round. 

With  such  a  message  on  my  lips, 
I'll  go  to  earth's  remotest  bound. 


SERVANTS  OF  JESUS 

Servants  of  Jesus,  bearing  His  image, 
Chosen  by  Christ  for  a  mission  divine; 

In  thine  own  life  His  glory  reflected, 

"Light  of  the  World,"  His  beauty  must  shine. 

Servants  of  Jesus,  bearing  His  Gospel, 
Telling  to  all  the  glad  message  of  love, 

In  the  home  land  or  far  o'er  the  ocean, 
Bid  them  come  home  to  the  Father  above. 

Servants  of  Jesus,  bearing  His  comfort, 

Balm  for  the  lives  that  are  wounded  and  sore; 

Health  to  the  sick,  and  rest  to  the  weary, 
Life  everlasting,  and  joy  evermore. 

CHORUS. 

Servants  of  Jesus,  doing  His  bidding, 

Cheerfully  labor  with  heart  and  with  hand, 

Where  He  doth  lead  be  willing  to  follow, 
Beady  to  go  at  the  Master's  command. 


NORTH  AMERICA  FOR  JESUS 

Dedicated  to  the  Training  School  Class  of  1884. 
(Miss   Miller's  Own   Class.) 

Lo!  The  Mighty  God  of  Missions 
Now  doth  move  with  wondrous  power 
On  the  hearts  of  His  beloved, 
This,  the  consecrated  hour, 
This,  the  day  of  His  salvation, 
When  His  voice  is  clearly  heard, 
Speaking  peace  among  the  nations, 
By  His  all  subduing  word. 

26 


While  He  bids  us  preach  the  gospel, 
On  the  ocean's  farther  shore, 
He  is  pleading  for  the  heathen, 
Who  are  dying  at  our  door, 
Perishing  in  sin  and  sorrow, 
Wretched,  poor,  and  lost  and  blind, 
Groping  on  amid  the  darkness, 
Fain  the  way  of  life  to  find. 

They  are  calling  for  the  gospel, 
Underneath  the  southern  skies; 
From  the  western  world  beyond  us, 
Come  the  same  repeated  cries. 
From  the  lands  of  superstition 
They  are  flocking  to  our  shores, 
And  the  cry  "Come  and  help  us" 
Bings  this  great  Republic  o'er. 

God  is  calling  thee  to  service, 
Christian  soldier,  hear  the  call, 
Go,  proclaim  the  joyful  tidings 
Full  salvation  free  to  all. 

"North  America  for  Jesus" 
Shall  be  sung  from  shore  to  shore, 
Till  the  angel  swift  descending 
Shall  proclaim,  ' '  Time  is  no  more. ' ' 


THE  LAND  OF  MEXICO 

There 's  a  land  of  song  and  story, 
Where  the  cactus  blooms  in  glory, 

In  the  land  of  Mexico. 
Yet  a  darkness  deep  and  wide, 
Spreads  abroad  on  every  side, 
And  they  have  no  heavenly  guide 

In  the  land  of  Mexico. 

There  are  maidens  full  of  sorrow, 
Shall  they  have  no  glad  tomorrow! 

In  the  land  of  Mexico. 
Maidens  in  our  Gospel  land, 
Join,  O  join  the  Mission  Band, 
Send  a  glad  and  helping  hand 

To  the  land  of  Mexico. 

O  the  air  is  full  of  sighing, 

In  the  darkness  they  are  dying, 

In  the  land  of  Mexico. 
If  the  Gospel  light  we  send, 
Prayers  and  alms  together  blend, 
Darkness  deep  shall  have  an  end 

In  the  land  of  Mexico. 

REFRAIN: 

Take  the  light,  Gospel  light; 
Take  the  light,  blessed  light; 
Take  the  life,  the  truth,  the  light, 
To  the  land  of  Mexico. 

27 


RUSSIAN  BAPTIST  MISSION  OF  LOS  ANGELES,  CALIF. 

March,  1918,  to  March,  1919 
(Bead  at  the  Northern  Baptist   Convention,  Denver,   Colo.,   1910) 

In  the  City  of  the  Angels,  in  the  year  that  has  gone  by, 
We  have  had  in  Eussian  Mission,  valleys  deep  and  mountains  high, 
Health  and  sickness,  pain  and  pleasure,  peace  and  conflict  all  along, 
Joy  and  sorrow  intermingled,  tears  and  smiles  with  prayer  and  song. 

In  the  going  and  the  coming,  has  been  loss  and  then  some  gain, 
Friends  have  left,  and   friends  have  gathered,  but  the  steadfast 

ones  remain. 

Teachers  true   and   faithful   helpers  have   united  heart  and   hand, 
One  in  spirit,  one  in  effort,  a  believing  praying  band. 

Special  days  have  brought  us  pleasure,  Christmas  and  the  Easter 

time, 
When   the    bells   have   rung   with    gladness,    sounding    forth    their 

merry  chime. 

While  our  days  are  mostly  joyous,  there  has  also  been  a  day 
When  the  bells  have  tolled  in  mourning,  for  some  loved  one  passed 

away. 

Once  the  bells  called  forth  to  service  in  a  new  and  needy  field, 
And  we  trust  that  this  new  mission  may  abundant  harvest  yield. 
Of  the  many  Eussian  children  gathered  in  this  humble  place, 
Few  have  ever  heard  the  Gospel  of  the  Saviour's  love  and  grace. 

Once  the  bells  rang  out  in  terror  and  our  hearts  were  filled  with 

fear, 

As  we  watched  the  fiery  billows  sweep  away  our  chapel  dear, 
All  the  things  that  we  had  gathered  for  our  work  in  days  gone  by, 
Now  lie  low  in  dust  and  ashes  while  the  children  sadly  cry. 

But  a  better  day  is  dawning,  when  a  chapel  new  and  fair, 
Shall  arise  in  which  to  shelter  children  with  our  love  and   care. 
Even  now  we  hear  the  music  of  the  hammer,  saw  and  plane; 
Soon  shall  stand  a  better  chapel  that  we  trust  may  long  remain. 

But  the  day  that  lives  in  memory  as  the  brightest  and  the  best, 
Was  that  day  of  joy  and  blessing,  better  far  than  all  the  rest; 
Day,  when  parents  of  our  children  we  had  taught  and  loved  so  long, 
Followed  Christ  beneath  the  waters,  rose  with  glad  new  life  and 
song. 

So  we  labor  on  with  patience,  and  we  trust  and  hope  and  pray, 
That  the  day  is  near  when  many  shall  accept  the  better  way; 
When,  within  our  Eussian  Mission  shall  arise  a  praying  band, 
Who  shall  go  to  take  the  Gospel  to  their  own  sad  troubled  land. 

28 


WELCOME  TO  THE  B.  M.  T.  S.  ALUMNAE  ASSOCIATION 

Los  Angeles,  1915 

From  your  distant  hearthstones  to  our  golden  West, 
Southern  California,  land  in  beauty  dressed, 
You  have  come  to  join  us  in  this  month  of  May 
And  we  bid  you  welcome,  heart  and  hand  today, 
To  this  "Home  of  Angels,  City  Beautiful," 
Welcome  our  Alumnae  of  the  Training  School. 

Memories  dear  and  tender  fill  our  hearts  tonight, 
Thoughts  of  days  departed,  days  of  sweet  delight, 
Days  of  strong  endeavor,  days  of  purpose  grand, 
Days  of  prayer  and  praises,  days  of  God's  right  hand, 
Days  of  joy  and  gladness,  love  our  "Golden  Eule, " 
Fellowship  supernal  in  our  Training  School. 

Strong  to  meet  the  conflict  by  the  Master  sent, 
Strong  to  work  for  Jesus,  gladly  forth  we  went, 
Some  for  years  of  service,  some  for  only  days, 
But  for  each  we  render  to  the  Lord  our  praise. 
Come  we  now  together  and  our  joy  express, 
New  recruits  and  vet'rens  of  B.  M.  T.  S. 

To  our  absent  comrades,  scattered  far  and  wide, 

In  their  place  of  toiling,  wheresoe  'er  they  bide, 

In  our  own  dear  country  or  across  the  sea, 

Send  we  now  a  message,  wireless,  loving,  free; 

"May  the  heavenly  Father  guard,  and  guide,  and  bless 

Our  Alumnae  Sisters,  our  B.  M.  T.  S." 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  CITY 

O  the  calls  for  Christian  service, 
Hearts  and  homes  without  God 's  lamp, 
Indian  tepee,  Negro  cabin, 
Miner's,  logger's,  rancher's  camp. 
While  to  all  these  calls  for  helping 
We  would  gladly  lend  a  hand, 
List  we  now  to  calls  for  service 
From  the  cities  of  our  land. 

O  the  beauty  of  the  city; 
Boulevards  and  parks  galore, 
Palaces  and  homes  resplendent, 
Churches,  schools  with  open  door. 
O  the  business  of  the  city; 
Buildings  reaching  to  the  sky, 
Factories  and  shops  and  storerooms, 
Packed  with  all  the  world  could  buy. 

O  the  bustle  of  the  city; 
All  are  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
Din  and  traffic  and  confusion, 
Where  do  all  these  people  go. 
O  the  contrasts  in  the  city; 
Rich,  and  poor,  and  high,  and  low, 
Good  and  evil  meet  each  other, 
Life  and  death  together  flow. 

29 


O  the  rush  to  every  city 

From  the  villege  and  the  .farm. 

From  the  foreign  lands  they're  coming, 

Shall  it  be  for  good  or  hafm? 

O  the  poverty  in  cities; 

Many  cannot  earn  their  bread, 

Homes  and  wardrobes  bare  and  empty, 

How  can  all  these  poor  be  fed! 

O  the  sickening  heat  of  Summer 
In  these  crowded  quarters  old, 
O  the  cruel  winds  of  Winter, 
With  the  hunger  and  the  cold. 
O  the  children  in  the  city, 
In  the  tenements  so  drear, 
In  the  cellars  and  the  garrets 
With  no  playground  far  or  near. 

O  the  crime  in  every  city; 
Lawlessness  and  vice  and  shame, 
In  the  palace,  in  the  hovel, 
Sins  too  terrible  to  name. 
O  the  sorrows  in  the  city 
From  the  curse  and  blight  of  drink, 
Mothers  weeping  in  their  anguish 
While  their  sons  to  ruin  sink. 

O  the  homes  in  every  city 
Where  no  praise  to  God  is  heard, 
Where  no  voice  of  prayer  is  uttered, 
And  no  message  from  God's  Word. 
O  the  voices  from  the  city, 
Calling  from  their  deepest  need, 
Calling  for  our  love  and  service, 
Answer  them  in  word  and  deed. 

Who  will  go  to  save  the  city 
From  the  perils  that  enthrall. 
Who  will  reach  the  hand  of  helping 
To  the  needy,  one  and  all. 
Who  will  gather  in  the  children, 
Tell  them  of  the  God  above, 
Tell  them  to  be  pure  and  holy, 
Teach  them  of  a  Savior's  love. 

Who  will  lead  the  youths  and  maidens 

From  the  paths  of  sin  to  cease, 

Win  their  hearts  to  truth,  and  goodness, 

Purity,  and  power,  and  peace. 

Hear  the  calls  from  every  city; 

Give,  and  go,  and  pray,  and  send, 

Till  the  blight,  the  woe,  the  wasting, 

And  the  curse  shall  have  an  end. 

30 


VOICES  OF  THE  WOMEN 

In  our  homes  of  peace  and  comfort,  Christian  women  of  today, 
Do  we  think  of  those  who  perish?     Do  ever  work  or  pray 
For  the  world's  neglected  women,  wretched,  poor,  degraded,  vile, 
Lost  amid  the  gloom  and  darkness,  in  the  depth  of  sin's  defile f 

Do  we  say  the  flags  of  nations  float  no  longer  over  slaves? 
That  the  curse  has  been  abolished,  and  the  flag  of  freedom  waves? 
Aye,  the  curse  has  been  abolished;  on  their  hands  no  chains  we  see, 
But  upon  their  souls  bengihted,  heavier  bondage  could  not  be. 

From  the  realm  of  Afric  darkness,  lawless,  Christless  land  today, 
From  the  far-off  plains  of  Asia,  held  in  superstition's  sway, 
Come  in  low  persuasive  accents,  echoing  by  day  and  night, 
Voices  of  sin-blinded  women,  asking  for  the  Gospel  Light. 

Not  alone  from  pagan  countries  do  we  hear  this  mute  appeal, 
As  before  their  heathen  altars,  they  in  hopeless  frenzy  kneel; 
But  from  lands  of  Papal  darkness,  voicing  forth  the  same  sad  need, 
Women  bow  to  Priest  and  Virgin.  To  their  call  shall  we  give  heed? 

From  our  own  fair  land  they  echo,  North,  and  South,  and  East, 

and  West, 

Helpless,  hopeless,  Christless  women,  join  the  pitiful  request. 
Can  we  listen  to  the  pleading  and  our  hearts  no  pity  feel? 
No,  the  rather  may  they  warmly  burn  with  missionary  zeal. 

We  may  give  to  these,  the  hopeless,  life,  and  light,  and  joy,  and 

peace, 

And  in  giving  thus  for  Jesus,  our  own  blessings  will  increase. 
God  is  calling  thee  to  service,  Christian  women,  hear  the  call, 
And  at  his  beloved  altar  lay  in  glad  response  your  all. 

He  has  need  of  woman 's  service  in  His  great  redemptive  plan, 
For  He  blessed  her  willing  efforts  when  His  ministry  began. 
Like  a  heavenly  benediction  from  the  very  throne  above, 
Lo!  the  Savior  fondly  places  on  her  work  His  seal  of  love. 


31 


Family  Qroup 


YOU  AND  I 

(To  my  Father  and  Mother.) 

It  was  many  years  ago, 

In  the  Springtime  fresh  and  fair, 
When  the  music  of  the  birds 

Filled  with  joy  the  morning  air, 
That  we  started  on  life 's  journey, 
You  and  I. 

Up  the  rugged  hill  of  life, 
Climbing  to  its  summit  high, 

Pressing  through  the  toil  and  strife, 
Passing  every  hindrance  by, 

We  have  struggled,  bravely  struggled, 
You  and  I. 

Down  the  western  slope  of  life, 
Fondly  clasping  hand  in  hand, 

Toward  the  setting  of  the  sun 
Where  he  paints  the  glory  land, 

We  are  passing,  gently  passing, 
You  and  I. 

Though  adown  life 's  sunny  slope, 

Now  we  journey  on  our  way, 
Yet  our  hearts  are  filled  with  hope, 
And  we  cast  our  fears  away. 
We  are  trusting,  sweetly  trusting, 
You  and  I. 

To  the  realms  of  endless  bliss, 
Through  the  western  golden  gate, 

To  a  fairer  world  than  this, 

Where  the  lost  and  loved  ones  wait, 

We  shall  enter,  gladly  enter, 
You  and  I. 


FOE  FATHER'S   AND   MOTHER'S   GOLDEN   WEDDING 

The  golden  wedding  day  has  come, 

We  join  in  kindly  greeting, 
And  welcome  all  our  kindred  home 

To  this  our  happy  meeting. 

O  sweet  the  hours  of  converse  here 
Their  memory  ne  'er  will  perish, 

O  sweet  to  see  the  faces  dear! 
Of  those  we  love  and  cherish. 

These  golden  days  will  soon  be  o  'er 

And  though  we  part  asunder, 
We  hope  to  meet  on  yon  bright  shore 

To  praise  and  love  and  wonder. 

35 


TIME-KING 

In  the  mighty  temple  wrought 

By  the  magic  hand  of  time, 
Sits  the  aged  king  himself. 

And  he  listens  to  the  chime 
Of  the  golden  bells  that  ring, 

Sad  or  gay. 
And  the  ages  come  and  go, 

And  the  bell  rings  to  and  fro; 
Still  the  king  sits  in  the  tower, 

And  the  clock  proclaims  the  hour 
In  a  melancholy  tone, 
Day  by  day. 

But  this  mighty  monarch  cares 

Not  how  fast  the  time  goes  by: 
Years  to  him  are  little  worth, 

What  cares  he  how  swift  they  fly, 
Though  they  measure  human  lives — 

Mark  their   goals. 
Fifty  times  he's  rung  that  bell, 

Once  each  year  its  tale  to  tell, 
Since  upon  that  happy  day, 

In  the  lovely  month  of  May, 
In  connubial  bands  were  joined 
These  fwo  souls. 

When  together  they  began 

To  ascend  the  hill  of  life, 
This  young  groom  of  twenty-two 

Claimed  his  own,  his  chosen  wife. 
Scarce  to  womanhood  had  grown 

This  young  bride. 
Full  of  strength  and  zeal  of  youth, 

Starting  in  the  ways  of  truth, 
Full  of  faith  and  hope  and  love, 

Seeking  guidance  from  above, 
Thus  for  better  or  worse, 
They  decide. 

Fifty  years  of  wedded  life, 

Fifty  years  of  joy  and  bliss. 
Intermixed  with  toil  and  strife, 

In  a  busy  world  like  this, 
Now  together  they  have  passed 

Without  fear. 
They  have  labored  side  by  side, 

With  a  courage  true  and  tried; 
They  have  journeyed  hand  in  hand 

Onward  to  the  better  land, 
And  the  path  has  brighter  grown 
Year  by  year. 

But  the  zeal  and  fire  of  youth 
Have  abated  in  their  veins; 

Of  the  strength  which  once  they  knew 
But  a  remnant  now  remains; 

Yet  the  love  which  first  they  felt 
Stronger  grows. 

36 


As  the  sunbeams  in  the  west 
Whisper  to  the  heart  of  rest; 

While  we  love  its  mellow  beam 
Better  than  its  fiercer  gleam; 

"So  may  eventide  of  life 
Bring  repose. 

King  again,  O,  Time-King,  ring, 

Ring  those  golden,  wedding  bells; 
Let  it  be  a  glad  refrain, 

Like  the  music  as  it  •wells 
From   the  heart   in   thankfulness 

For  the  past. 
Tell  of  blessings  past  and  gone, 

Tell  of  joys  that  linger  on; 
Future  good  to  us  foretell, 

'Till  the  heart  in  raptures  swell, 
And  we  grasp  the  living  joy — 
At  the  last. 


MY   MOTHER'S    BIRTHDAY 

My  Mother 's  birthday,  can  it  be 

That  she  is  growing  old? 
That  silver  hair  now  shrines  her  brow, 

Where  once    'twas  decked  with  gold? 
My  Mother 's  birthday,  can  it  be 

That  fourscore  years  have  fled 
Since  first  her  life  on  earth  began, 

That  eighty  years  have  sped? 

Those   passing  years,  how   full,  how  full 

Of  all  that 's  bright  and  true, 
"She  hid  the  ills  of  life  with  care, 

And  brought  the  good  to  view. 
I  often  wish  that  I  had  known 

Her  in  her  childhood  days, 
And  in  her  maidenhood  had  seen 

Her  sweet  and  winning  ways. 

They  say  that  she  was  beautiful, 

I  'm  sure  it  must  be  so, 
Since  first  I  saw  her  she  has  grown 

More  beautiful  I  knorw. 
That  beauty,  like  the  shining  light, 

Grows  brighter  day  by  day; 
It  is  the  beauty  of  the  heart 

That  shines  upon  her  way. 

It  beams  from  out  lier  kindly  eyes, 

And  lights  her  gentle  face, 
And  blesses  all  within  her  reach 

With  tenderness  and  grace. 
It  was  the  beauty  of  her  life 

That  filled  her  home  with  cheer, 
To  husband  and  to  children  all 

The  place  on  earth  most  dear. 

37 


And  out  beyond  the  shrine  of  home, 

That  beauty  shone  afar, 
To  friends  and  neighbors,  strangers,  tooy 

A  bright  and  guiding  star. 
The  beauty  of  a  life  like  her» 

Forever  shall  endure, 
And,  in  the  realms  of  endless  dayy 

Shall  shine  with  luster  pure. 

This  tribute  small  of  humble  praise, 

A  grateful  service  meet, 
To  her  who  blesses  all  my  days, 
I  lay  it  at  her  feet, 
And  pray  the  Father  who  hath  given 

Such  excellence  of  grace, 
To  grant  her  through  the  coming  days> 

The  smiling  of  His  face. 


THE  LOVE  THAT  NE'ER  GROWS  OLEi 

(For  My  Sister,  Mrs.  H.  H.  Twining,  on  Her  Silver  Wedding  Day) 
In  the  days  of  strong  endeavor,  in  the  days  of  heroes  brave, 
When  our  fathers^  sons  and  brothers  went  their  country's  life  to 

save; 
When  they  left  their  homes  and  loved  ones,  kissed  goodby  their 

maidens  fair, 
Strapped  upon  their  backs  their  knapsacks,  gave  themselves  to  do 

and  dare; 

In  those  days  there  lived  a  maiden,  patriotic,  blithe  and  gay, 
And  her  song  was  like  the  robin 's  in  the  merry  month  of  May. 
To  her  heart  had  come  no  sorrow,  to  her  life  had  come  no  care, 
Bound  her  heart  she  felt  the  twining  of  love's  tendrils,  fresh  and 

fair. 

But  she  saw  among  the  soldiers  one  so  manly,  brave  and  true, 
To  her  eyes  there  came  a  teardrop,  like  the  sparkling  of  the  dew. 
O  that  he  should  brave  the  danger,  O  that  he  should  bear  the  toilr 
O  that  he  should  lie  unsheltered  'neath  the  sky  on  southern  soil. 
"But  he  kissed  her  when  he  left  her  and  he  told  her  to  be  brave, 
For  I  go, ' '  he  whispered,  ' '  darling,  all  that 's  dear  on  earth  to 

save." 

So  she  watched  the  soldiers  rally,  and  she  heard  the  bugle  play, 
And  she  saw  the  smoke  of  battle  rise,  a  thousand  miles  away. 

O  the  days  of  weary  waiting,  O  the  days  of  hope  and  fear, 
O  the  days  of  earnest  praying,  will  the  God  of  battles  hear? 
Four  long  years  of  toil  and  service,  Winter's  cloud  and  Summer's 

sun, 

Four  long  years  of  camp  and  battle,  and  the  victory  is  won. 
Many  went  who  came  not  homeward,  and  of  those  who  came  again 
Many  more  were  weak  and  feeble,  filled  with  weariness  and  pain. 
Thus  our  hero,  and  his  maiden  straightway  nursed  him  back  to  life; 
Then  a  sweet  new  name  he  gave  her,  maiden  now  no  more,  but  wife. 

38 


Thus  they  started  on  life's  journey,  full  of  courage,  hope  and  love, 
"With  the  heavenly  Father's  blessing  resting  on  them  from  above. 
The  romantic  and  heroic  in  their  hearts  had  been  instilled, 
Fitting  them  for  joy  or  sorrow,  should  their  future  thus  be  filled. 
"Westward  ho",  is  now  their  watchword,  and  o'er  prairie,  waste 

and  wide 

May  be  seen  the  smoke  uprising  from  their  tent  at  eventide. 
House  of  sod  or  house  of  marble,  in  a  carriage  or  a  cart, 
Little  does  it  truly  matter  if  with  love  is  filled  the  heart. 

Shall  I  say  that  all  was  beauty,  life  was  easy,  smooth  and  fair, 
Shall  I  say  they  had  no  trials,  had  no  hardships,  had  no  caret 
Xo,  I  '11  say  and  say  it  truly,  they  had  many  a  trying  day, 
Many  a  grief  and  disappointment,  many  a  thorn  upon  their  way. 
"Silver  threads  now  fleck  the  auburn,  silver  curls  now  shrine  the 

brow, 

Time,  nor  tide,  nor  days  of  trial  e'er  can  change  love's  early  vow, 
"Days  of  darkness,  days  of  sunshine,  whatsoever  the  future  hold, 
Sister,  brother,  O  remember,  love,  yes  love,  can  ne  'er  grow  old. 


TWO    LITTLE  BROWN  JUGS 
In  Memory  of  Earl  Twining. 

Two  little  brown  jugs,  with  a  touch  of  gray, 

They  bring  to  me  memories  dear, 
Are  sitting  beneath  my  stand  today; 

I  dust  them  and  leave  them  there. 

They  once  belonged  to  my  little  Earl, 

And  I  know  they  are  his  today; 
They  are  waiting  for  him,  my  treasure,  my  pearl, 

Who  has  long  since  gone  away. 

Sometimes  they  were  horses  on  the  road, 

And  he  whipped  them  up  the  hill, 
And  bravely  they  drew  up  the  heavy  load, 

But  he  never  treated  them  ill. 

Sometimes  they  were  ponies,  fleet  and  strong, 

And  swiftly  they  sped  away, 
And  carried  his  playmates  with  him  along 

In  his  tiny  carriage  gay. 

Sometimes  they  were  oxen  and  plodded  along 

With  slow  and  measured  tread; 
You  could  hear  the  crack  of  his  leather  thong; 

"Gee,  Jerry!    Haw,  Jack!"  he  said. 

Sometimes  they  were  reindeers  for  Santa  Glaus, 
And  their  sleighbells  rang  out  with  glee; 

4tl  know  they  will  stop  at  my  chimney,  because 
They  have  sweetmeats  and  toys  for  me." 

Sometimes  they  were  camels  with  great  long  legs, 

And  he  made  them  kneel  to  pray, 
And  loaded  them  up  with  treasures  ricb 

To  bear  o'er  the  desert  away. 


Sometimes  they  were  donkeys  with  frisky  heelsy 

Ears  longer  than  ever  you  saw, 
And  the  funniest  sound  on  the  welkin  rings 

As  they  cry,  "He  haw,  he  haw!" 

Sometimes  they  were  elephants,  Jumbo  and  Ted, 
And  he  packs  for  each  one  his  trunk 

With   candies,  and  apples,  and  oranges  red; 
When  you  look,  it  is  nothing  but  junk. 

One  day  they  were  dogs,  and  he  tied  them  with  care 

And  he  patted  them  on  the  head: 
"Now  watch  and  bark  if  you  see  a  bear; 

I  've  a  pain  and  must  hurry  to  bed. ' ' 

That  night  there  was  rustle  of  angel  wings, 

As  they  carried  my  Earl  away; 
I  gathered  up  all  of  his  precious  things — 

They  are  there  in  my  drawer  today. 

But  the  two  brown  jugs  with  memories  dear, 

And  tender,  and  sweet,  and  fair, 
I  look  at  them  yet  with  a  rising  tear; 

I  dust  them,  and  leave  them  there. 


(Sent  by   Telegram    to   Mr.    and   Mrs.   H.   H.    Twining   for   their 
Golden  Wedding  Day) 

Los  Angeles,  California,  Nov.  11,  1915. 
On  this  your  Golden  Wedding  Day, 
Your  sisters  three,  from  far  away, 
Congratulations  hearty  send 
By  telegram  their  voices  blend. 
The  morning  of  your  life  is  past, 
But  love  like  yours  will  always  last, 
And  bless  and  brighten  all  your  way, 
As  on  this  Golden  Wedding  Day. 
Signed, 

Tour  Sisters  Three. 


THE   CHAIN  OF   FIFTY  GOLDEN   LINKS 

Written  for  the  Golden  Wedding  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Milton  S.  Miller, 

1905. 

There  is  a  chain  of  fifty  links  that  bind  the  years  together 
Through   which   we've   traveled  side   by   side,  in   fair   or   stormy 

weather. 

Each  link  a  year  of  mingled  days  of  sunshine  and  of  sadness, 
Of    heat  and  cold,  wet  and  dry,  of  sorrow  and  of  gladness. 

'Twas  back  in  eighteen-fifty-five,  link  number  one  was  molded, 
When  two  strong  manly  arms,  about  a  slender  form  were  folded. 
'Twas  then  we  promised  to  be  true,  each  plighting  to  the  other 
More  sacred  vows  than  ere  were  made  by  sister  dear  or  brother. 

40 


For  love,  that  makes  the  story  new,  that  story  sweet  and  olden, 
No  fitter  symbol  can  be  found  than  metal  pure  and  golden, 
And  so  we  make  a  chain  of  gold,  of  fifty  links  united, 
To  represent  the  fifty  years,  since  first  our  troth  we  plighted. 

Our  home  has  echoed  to  the  notes  of  childhood's  music  often, 
These  glad  or  plaintive  strains  have  helped  life 's  harsher  tones  to 

soften, 

Like  stars  that  beautify  the  sky,  and  spread  o  'er  all  their  luster, 
These  children  came  to  bless  our  home,  a  bright  and  shining  cluster. 

Three  daughters  grew  to  womanhood,  two  sons  were  boys  no  longer, 
Then   one   by   one   they  flew   away,   like   birds  with   wings  grown 

stronger. 
Four  found  their  match,  joined  hearts  and  hands  to  live  each  for 

the  other, 
The  little  ones  within  their  homes  now  call  them,  father,  mother. 

One  loving  daughter  tarried  yet,  we  hoped  to  leave  us  never; 
The  heavenly  Father  called  her  home  to  live  with  Him  forever; 
And  though  we  miss  her  presence  dear,  and  though  today  we  sorrow, 
A  crown  of  glory  now  is  hers,  and  we  shall  meet  tomorrow. 

Sometimes  the  way  has  weary  grown,  and  rough  the  journey  often, 
But  love  sincere  has  never  failed  the  pathway  hard  to  soften. 
Sometimes  the  cares  have  heavy  pressed,  but  love  has  made  them 

lighter, 
Sometimes  the  path  has  gloomy  been,  but  love  has  made  it  brighter. 

God  surely  has  our  refuge  been  when  dangers  were  around  us. 
When  wandering  in  forbidden  paths,  His  love  hath  ever  found  us. 
When  weary  with  the  toils  of  life,  He  came  our  strength  to  double, 
And  He  has  been  through  all  the  years  a  present  help  in  trouble. 

Today  we  lift  our  hearts  to  Him  who  hath  our  path  attended, 
And  praise  His  name  for  all  the  way  with  joy  and  sorrow  blended. 
For  friendship  in  the  days  gone  by,  the  days  so  dear  and  olden, 
For  friends  who  bring  us  joy  today,  upon  our  Wedding  Golden. 

We  pledge  anew  our  vows  of  love  that  years  ago  we  plighted, 
Of  love  that  through  the   storms  of  life  no  frost   of  Earth  has 

blighted, 
Aud   though    our   eyes    are   toward   the   West,   with    golden    tints 

adorning, 
Beyond  it  is  the  radiant  dawn,  of  heaven 's  eternal  morning. 


THE   EUBY   WEDDING   OF    MB.   AND    MRS.   J.  F.  JACKSON 

September  27,  1877 — September  27,  1917. 

There  is  sound  of  joy  and  gladness,  there  is  music  in  the  air, 

For  we  've  met  with  friends  and  loved  ones,  on  this  Euby  Wedding 

fair. 

Met  with  words  of  hearty  greeting,  met  with  messages  of  cheer, 
From  the  friends  of  days  departed,  from  the  loved  ones,  far  and 

near. 

41 


We  congratulate  the  bridegroom  and  we   crown   the  sweet-faced 

bride, 

Forty  years  they've  walked  together  and  have  labored  side  by  side. 
Forty  years  of  joy  and  sorrow,  sunshine  bright  or  leaden  skies, 
Forty  years  of  willing  service,  filled  with  love  and  sacrifice. 

Sacrifice,  each  for  the  other,  then  for  children  dear,  the  best, 
All  is  laid  upon  the  altar  and  the  sacrifice  is  blessed. 

Every  sparkling  gem  of  beauty  has  its  rainbow  color  bright, 
From  the  emerald,  saphire,  topaz,  to  the  diamond,  pure  and  white. 
Crimson  is  the  glowing  ruby,  symbol  of  the  sacrifice, 
Laid  on  every  glowing  altar  underneath  the  arching  skies. 
So  the  life  that  blesses  others  must  be  poured,  a  crimson  tide, 
Bringing  life  and  hope  and  healing,  as  was  His,  the  Crucified. 

In  her  home  in  old  Wisconsin,  forty  years  ago  today, 

When  the   woods  were  full  of  crimson,  gold  and  i>rown,  in  bright 

array, 

When  the  touch  of  Indian  Summer  filled  the  air  with  purple  haze, 
Stood  this  maid,  attired  and  ready,  at  the  parting  of  the  ways. 

Eeady  to  assume  new  duties  and  the  marriage  vow  to  take, 
Eeady  to  leave  home  and  loved  ones  and  another  home  to  make, 
Ready  for  a  journey  westward,  with  her  newly  wedded  mate, 
That  at  last  would  find  its  limit  in  this  famous  Golden  State. 

Here  was  field  for  all  the  service  that  a  willing  heart  could  give, 
And  she  chose  a  life-long  motto,  this — "For  God  and  Others  Live". 
After  forty  years  of  toiling  in  her  home  for  loved  ones  dear, 
They  arise  and  call  her  blessed,  and  she  reigns  without  a  peer. 

Now  a  second  generation  in  the  old  home  nest  we  see, 
And  to  all  who  call  her  Grandma,  not  another  such  could  be. 
Home  has  never  been  neglected,  though  in  weakness  hard  to  bear, 
To  her  Church  she  gave  full  measure  of  her  toil,  and  love,  and  care. 

While  of  wider  fields  and  labor  many  witnesses  can  tell, 
City,  home  and  foreign  missions,  all  can  testify  full  well. 
Call  her  "Missionary  Mother",  as  she  many  times  has  been, 
For  she  claimed  the  missionaries,  ever,  as  her  kith  and  kin. 

Mothered  every  infant  mission,  sat  on  every  Woman's  Board, 
For  her  city,  state  and  country,  life  and  love  abundant  poured. 
If  you  measure  life  by  service,  sympathetic  smiles  and  tears, 
Sacrifice  and  toil  for  others,  she  has  lived  a  hundred  years. 

And  her  life  has  lighted  others  with  a  bright  and  kindly  beam, 
Overflowed  to  those  about  her  in  a  rich  and  ruby  stream, 
Pointed  out  the  royal  pathway  which  the  saints  have  always  trod, 
From  the  lowly  plains  of  service  to  the  mountain  heights  of  God. 

On  this  festive  happy  evening  of  this  Euby  Wedding  Day, 

Let  us  greet  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  scatter  flowers  upon  their 

way, 

Wish  them  many  days  of  gladness,  many  days  of  peace  and  grace, 
And  the  favor  and  the  smiling  of  the  Heavenly  Fatner's  face. 

Los  Angeles,  Calif. 

42 


UNDRESSING    THE    BABY 
For  Mila,  Mrs.  Jackson 's  First  Baby. 

Bring  me  the  nightie  all  clean  and  white 
'Tis  time  to  undress  the  baby  for  night. 
We  will  have  to  begin  at  the  shoes,  I  guess, 
And  then  we  will  go  to  the  stockings  and  dress. 
Roll  her  over  and  loosen  the  skirts  and  bands, 
And  handle  the  baby  with  careful  hands, 
For  she  is  a  wee  little  thing  you  know, 
But  in  this  big  world  there  is  room  to  grow. 
Now  stand  her  up  on  her  two  little  feet, 
And  we'll  skin  a  rabbit  so  quick  and  neat, 
How  she  came  to  be  bare  she  will  never  think, 
But  will  chuckle,  and  laugh,  and  crow,  and  wink, 
And  into  my  lap  she  will  softly  sink, 
As  fair  as  a  lily,  as  sweet  as  a  pink. 

Plump  little  shoulders  and  smooth  little  back, 

I  will  rub  it,  and  rub  it,  and  give  it  a  smack. 

Soft  little  arms  all  dimpled  and  white, 

With  hands  that  are  busy  from  morning  till  night. 

Bound  little  body  and  twin  chubby  knees, 

As  nearly  alike  as  two  little  peas, 

But  cutest  of  all  are  these  dear  little  feet, 

Bosy,  and  cunning,  and  dainty,  and  neat, 

With  ten  little  pigs  that  to  market  went, 

And  carried  my  baby  home  far-spent. 

Now  on  with  her  nightie,  for  her  eyes 

That  borrowed  their  light  from  the  soft  blue  skies 

Are  closing  their  shutters  like  little  Bo-peep, 

And  soon  she  will  be  all  fast  asleep. 


TO  BERTRAM  YOTJDE 

Mr.    and   Mrs.   Jackson's   First    Grandchild. 

Four  years  ago  today,  my  dear, 

Your  little  life  began, 
Four  years  of  joyous,  playful  life, 

And  work,  my  little  man. 

With  mother  dear  to  love  and  train 

And  guide  your  little  feet, 
With  daddy  too,  to  do  his  part, 

Your  home  has  been  complete. 

And  grandma  and  a  grandpa,  too, 
Have  blessed  your  childhood  days, 

While  other  friends  have  done  their  part 
To  guard  your  words  and  ways. 

With  all  these  friends  to  help  you  on 
You,  too,  must  do  your  part 

To  make  your  life  the  best  you  can, 
Be  sweet  and  pure  in  heart. 

43 


HOME  AT  LAST 

(A  Tribute  of  Love  to  the  Memory  of  My  Uncle,  Abraham  Miller, 
Marshall,  Wis.,  1880.) 

Home  at  last;  yes,  home,  beloved, 

Where  thy  spirit  longed  to  be. 
Thou  art  resting  with  thy  Saviour 

By  the  shining  jasper  sea. 

Home  at  last;  yes,  home  forever, 

In  thy  Father 's  mansions  fair, 
Thou  dost  tread  the  golden  pavement, 

Thou  dost  breathe  celestial  air. 

Home  at  last;  no  more  to  wander 

In  this  gloomy  vale  of  tears, 
But  to  praise  thy  God  forever, 

Through  the  bright  eternal  years. 

Home  at  last;  thy  toils  are  over, 

Labor  is  but  sweet  repose, 
In  the  land  where  none  grow  weary, 

Where  the  peaceful  river  flows. 

Home  at  last;  with  thy  companion 

Who  had  only  gone  before. 
There  has  been  a  glad  reunion 

On  that  heavenly  blissful  shore. 

Faithful  teacher,  tender  father, 

We  thy  children  and  thy  friends, 
Hope  to  dwell  with  thee  forever, 

In  the  life  that  never  ends. 


MY  SISTER'S  SILVER  WEDDING 
(For  Eev.  Lucius  Smith  and  Mary  S.  Smith.) 

"Write  us  a  poem  to  order."    So  came  the  request  one  day. 
I  pondered  in  doubt  and  in  silence,  and  what  shall  it  be  about,  pray. 
I  have  heard  it  said  by  poets,  by  poets  real  and  true, 
To  write  at  the  bid  of  another,  is  a  difficult  thing  to  do. 

The  water  will  gush  unbidden,  from  the  rippling,  bubbling  spring, 

The  lay  of  the  linnet  unbidden,  will  merrily,  cheerily  sing; 

So  the  song  of  the  poet  immortal,  must  ever  o  'er  flow  from  the 

heart, 
If  it  yield  the  melodious  sweetness,  of  poesy's  beautiful  art. 

We  roam  through  the  forest  elysian,  where  the  fancy  delights  to 

dwell, 

And  yield  to  the  gentle  persuasion,  of  his  mystic  and  magic  spell, 
And  so  should  we  write  to  order,  by  the  compas  line  and  square, 
Then  deal  with  our  failing  kindly,  and  give  them  a  judgment  fair. 

Write  us  a  poem  to  order,  pithy  and  fresh  and  new. 
We  look  for  the  specifications;  but  lo,  they  are  short  and  few. 
For  never  a  word  is  uttered,  of  the  style  of  the  verse  or  feet; 
And  never  a  topic  is  mentioned,  for  the  present  occasion  meet. 

44 


And  so  we  are  left  to  follow  the  bent  of  our  own  sweet  will, 
Oh  muser!  we  pray  you  to  grant  us  the  touch  of  a  poet's  quill, 
And  breathe  with  the  breath  of  music,  and  touch  with  a  master's 

hand, 
The  chords  that  are  ready  to  vibrate,  like  harpstrings  by  breezes 

fanned. 

*  *  *  »  *  *  • 

'Twas  in  the  lovely  month  of  May,  in  eighteen  sixty-five, 
'Twas  on  the  holy  Sabbath  day,  O,  memory  revive, 
For  since  that  day  has  passed  away,  years  fully  twenty-five, 
What  happened  on  that  morn  in  spring,  I  was  about  to  tell, 
Had  you  been  there  to  hear  the  ring  of  deep  toned  wedding  bell, 
No  story  would  I  need  to  sing,  you  would  have  known  full  well. 

What  said  the  parson  of  renown,  what  said  the  manly  groom  f 
How  looked  the  bride  in  wedding  gown,  like  bird  in  fancy  plume? 
The  sweetest  blossom  in  the  town,  a  peach  tree  in  full  bloom. 
We  wonder  not  this  couple  bland,  should  yield  to  cupid's  dart. 
'Twas  not  mere  union  of  the  hand,  but  also  of  the  heart. 
Thus  drawn  by  love 's  own  golden  bands,  naught  on  this  earth  can 
part. 

As  streams,  divided  in  their  source,  unite  upon  the  lea; 

And  then  flow  on  with  added  force,  commingling  to  the  sea, 

So  these  two  lives  unite  their  course,  in  sweetest  harmony, 

One  aim,  one  purpose,  one  desire,  to  serve  the  God  above. 

To  live  the  life  he  doth  require,  their  constancy  to  prove. 

Filled  both  their  hearts  with  holy  fire,  with  zeal  and  ardent  love. 

Go  preach  the  gospel  to  the  meek,  go  loose  the  captive's  band, 

The  broken-hearted  ones  to  seek,  go  lend  a  helping  hand, 

To  weary,  heavy  laden,  weak;  this  was  their  mission  grand. 

To  Stoughton  first  their  steps  they  bent,  five  years  they  labor  there. 

Verona  calling  them  they  went,  ten  years  for  her  to  care. 

To  Merton,  then  to  Lodi  sent,  each  time  through  forvent  prayer. 

Upon  their  pathway  have  been  cast,  with  smiling  of  God's  face, 
Through  all  these  years  of  service  past,  rich  tokens  of  His  grace, 
Their  memories  evermore  shall  last,  nor  days  nor  years  efface. 
To  duty  stern  they  were  not  driven,  but  went  with  willing  feet. 
Their  years  of  service  have  been  given,  in  consecration  sweet, 
There  is  awaiting  them  in  heaven,  a  compensation  meet. 


FOE  MY  SISTEE'S  ALBUM 

You  are  sailing  adown  the  river — sister, 

Adown  the  River  of  Life, 
May  its  waters  be  never  a  torrent, 

Gushing  and  foaming  in  strife; 
But  may  they  be  rather  like  Arno, 

The  still-flowing,  unruffled  stream. 
Like  beautiful,  peaceful  Arno 

Flashing  in  Italy's  gleam. 

45 


At  first  the  river  is  narrow — sister, 

As  it  ripples  like  childhood 's  song. 
On  its  banks  you  can  pluck  the  flowers. 

As  it  bears  you  gaily  along. 
And  then  it  grows  wider  and  deeper, 

And  swifter  you  glide  away; 
But,  Oh,  as  it  widens  and  deepens, 

May  it  more  peaceful  be. 

But  if,  against  your  vessel — sister, 

The  billows  should  dash  the  spray, 
And  the  storm  rage  fiercely  around  you 

Then  retire  to  your  cabin  and  pray. 
And  He  who  holdeth  the  waters 

In  the  hollow  of  His  hand, 
Will  steadily  bear  you  onward, 

And  bring  you  safely  to  land. 

He  will  bring  you  to  that  harbor — sister, 

Where  storm  beats  nevermore. 
All  will  be  peace  and  sunshine 

There  on  that  blissful  shore. 
And  He  will  never  suffer 

You  in  the  waves  to  fall. 
Then  trust  to  Him  your  vessel, 

And  trust  to  Him  vour  all. 


TO  OUR  FRIENDS  FBOM  THE  SUNFLOWER  STATE 
A  Goodbye.    September,  1921 

Hurrah  for  California!  The  pride  of  the  Golden  West; 

'Tis  the  land  of  the  open  doorway,  'tis  the  land  that  we  love  the 

best. 
We  welcome  our  friends  from  the  East  land,  come  they  early  or 

come  they  late; 
But  none  can  be  more  wecome  than  our  friends  from  the  Sunflower 

State. 

They  have  come  from  old  Wisconsin,  where  some  of  us  had  our 

birth; 
They  have  come  from  the  North  and  South  land  to  this  grandest 

state  on  earth. 

We  have  all  united  in  welcome,  with  picnic,  and  party,  and  fete, 
And  none  have  enjoyed  them  more  fully,  than  our  friends  from  the 

Sunflower  State. 

We  have  showed  them  our  grand  old  ocean,  they  have  sailed  on 
its  heaving  breast; 

They  have  traversed  our  lofty  mountains,  they  have  climbed  to 
their  sunny  crest; 

They  have  lauded  our  parks  and  gardens,  and  naught  could  their 
praise  abate, 

For  our  fellowship,  fruit  and  flowers,  these  friends  from  the  Sun 
flower  State. 

46 


And  now  you're  about  to  leave  us,  in  spite  of  your  outing  fine; 
There  are  other  friends  and  loved  ones  at  the  other  end  of  the  line. 
They  are  looking  for  you  with  longing,  they  are  watching  early  and 

late, 
These  other  friends  and  loved  ones  at  home  in  the  Sunflower  State. 

As  we  bade  you  a  hearty  welcome,  now  we  bid  you  a  fond  goodbye; 
May  the  Father's  blessing  attend  you,  ever  kept  by  His  watchful 

eye, 
May  your  journey  be  filled  with  pleasure,  from  L.  A.  to  the  Golden 

Gate, 
Then  on  to  the  loved  ones  awaiting,  safe  home  in  the  Sunflower 

State. 


Palestine  Qroup 


MEMORIES  OF   THE  HOLY  LAND 

1907. 

You  ask  me  what  I  brought  with  me 

From  Holy  Land  away, 
What  treasure-trove  I  prize  the  most 

That  I  possess  today. 
I  answer,  there  are  many  things 

I  very  highly  prize, 
They  are  not  valued  for  their  cost, 

Or  either  for  their  size. 

A  little  box  of  tiny  shells 

From  dear  blue  Galilee, 
Pressed  flowers  and  grasses  gathered  there, 

Are  very  dear  to  me. 
Some  trinkets  made  of  olive  wood, 

Some  ivory  and  pearls, 
Some  barcelets,  corals,  charms  and  pins, 

I  brought  to  please  the  girls. 

A  little  bottle  filled  with  sand 

From  Jordan 's  flowing  stream, 
Some  rocks  I  gathered  right  in  sight 

Of  Hermon  's  snowy   gleam. 
Some  leaves  from  gnarled  old  olive  trees, 

I  plucked  and  pressed  with  care, 
Within  Gethesemene  they  grew, 

That  sacred  garden  fair. 

A  tiny  little  earthen  jar 

From  Cana  now  is  mine, 
A  copy  of  the  larger  ones 

That  once  were  filled  with  wine. 
A  pure  white  stone  from  Bethlehem, 

And  carved  into  a  star 
To  mind  me  of  the  one  that  led 

The  "Wise  Men"  from  afar. 

Some  dainty  little  bits  of  lace 

Made  by  the  orphan  girls 
In  mission  school  at  Nazareth, 

Are  worth  as  much  as  pearls. 
My  postal  cards  I  highly  prize, 

And  hundreds  now  are  mine, 
They  take  me  back  to  every  spot 

I  saw  in  Palestine. 

Mementoes  of  Jerusalem 

I've  somewhere  packed  away, 
If  I  should  speak  of  all  of  them 

'Twould  make  too  long  delay. 
The  Mosque  of  Omar,  Wailing  Place, 

The  Upper  Boom,  the  wall, 
The  Church  of  Holy  Sepulcher, 

I've  trinkets  from  them  all. 

51 


And   now  I  think  I've   said   enough 

About  these  trinkets  small, 
Once  I  had  deemed  them  little  worth, 

But  now  I  prize  them  all. 
I  do  not  value  them  because 

Of  skilful  work  of  art, 
But   for  the  precious  memories 

They  bring  to  mind  and  heart. 

These  memories  are  linked  with  Him 

Whose  home  was  in  that  land, 
Who  sanctified  its  every  spot, 

And  touched  with  gracious  hand. 
He  walked  upon  its  sacred  soil, 

He  lived  to  set  men  free, 
He  loved  and  drew  all  men  toward  God, 

The  Man  of  Galilee. 

These  memories  shall  go  with  me 

As  long  as  time  shall  last, 
I  then  shall  take  them  on  you  see, 

When  Jordan 's  waves  are  past. 
And  in  the  new  Jerusalem, 

Beyond  this  earth  away 
I  still  shall  think  and  speak  of  them, 

Forever  and  a  dav. 


THE    JEWISH    WAILING    PLACE 
(Visited,  May  10,  1907.) 

Have  you  seen  the  Place  of  Wailing, 

Seen  the  Jewish  Place  of  Wailing, 
Just  outside  the  temple  gateway  on  the  wall? 

If  you  have  not,  then  you  know  not 

All  Jerusalem  can  show  not, 
Half  the  gloom  that  settles  o'er  you  like  a  pall. 

Have  you  heard  the  women  wailing, 

Heard  the  Jewish  women  wailing. 
As  they  came  to  weep  upon  the  sacred  stones? 

Have  you  seen  them  bow  in  anguish, 

While  their  spirits  faint  and  languish? 
Have  you  heard  their  sad  and  melancholy  tones? 

Have  yon  seen  the  men  a-coming, 

And  their  sacred  books  a-thumbing. 
While  they  conn  their  saddest  passage  o'er  and  o'er? 

Have  you  heard  them  in  contrition 

Pour  their  souls  out  in  petition? 
Shall  their  cry  rejected  be  forevermore? 

Have  you  seen  the  youth  and  maiden 

With  too  early  sorrow  laden, 
Coming  with  the  older  ones  to  weep  and  wail; 

Coming  with  the  aged  mother, 

With  the  kindly  elder-brother, 
While  he  fastens  to  the  sacred  wall  the  nail? 

52 


Have  you  seen  the  children  coming, 

Seen  the  little  children  coming, 
Bobbed  of  all  the  gladness  of  their  childhood's  dower 1 

While  upon  the  wall  a-leaning, 

Do  they  understand  the  meaning 
Of  the  plaintive  tones  they  utter  by  the  hour? 

O  the  losses  of  the  nation, 

Temple,  city,  land  and  station, 
With  the  scorn  of  all  the  earth  upon  them  poured. 

Must  they  always  mourn  in  sorrow? 

Shall  there  be  no  glad  tomorrow, 
When  the  favor  of  the  Lord  shall  be  restored? 

O  our  hearts  were  filled  with  pity, 

Nothing  in   the   Holy   City 
Seemed  so  hopeless,  so  dejected,  so  forlorn, 

As  these  Jewish  people  weeping, 

And  their  loss  in  memory  keeping. 
Shall  there  be  for  them  no  resurrection  morn? 

When  they  shall  accept  the  story 

Of  the  Lord  of  Life  and  Glory, 
And  acknowledge  Him  of  Jewish  parents  born! 

When  they  turn  to  Him  believing, 

There  shall  be  a  glad  receiving, 
Then  shall  come  their  promised  resurrection  morn. 


FLOWEES    OF    PALESTINE 
May  22,  1907. 

I  wander  today  o'er  the  Nazareth  hills, 
Where  the  Christ-child  had  His  home, 

And  where  in  His  early  manhood  years, 
In  the  evening  He  loved  to  roam. 

I  gather  the  same  sweet  Spring-time  flowers, 

He  gathered  so  long  ago, 
On  the  very  hills  that  His  feet  have  trod, 

For  He  loved  them  well  I  know. 

I  gather  the  lavendar  Cyclamen, 
That  fragrant  and  beautiful  thing, 

That  blooms  on  the  mountains  of  Palestine, 
And  tells  of  the  coming  of  Spring. 

I  pluck  me  the  charming  Madonna  Flower, 
For  its  pure  white  petals  famed, 

In  its  feathery  foliage  all  entwined, 
And  for  Mary,  the  Mother  named. 

On  the  poorest  of  soil  of  Palestine, 
Grows  the  Lentil,  with  blossoms  pink, 

Its  pottage  was  food  for  the  humble  poor, 
And  'twas  oft  used  by  Mary,  I  think. 

53 


We  are  sure  that  the  eyes  of  her  little  child, 

In  His  quest  passed  nothing  by, 
So  he  must  have  gathered  the  scarlet  bloom, 

Of  the  fabulous  Pheasant's  Eye. 

The  delicate  flowers  of  the  sweet  blue  Flax, 

I  need  not  go  far  to  seek, 
They  tell  of  the  kindness  of  Him  who  brought 

The  gospel  of  love  for  the  weak. 

He  spoke  of  the  Annise,  and  Cummin,  and  Mint, 
Of  the  Mustard,  and  grasses,  and  Rue, 

I  search  'till  I  find  them,  every  one, 
For  He  taught  us  their  lesson  true. 

Bnt  better  than  all  of  the  others  I  found, 
And  the  one  that  is  dearest  to  me, 

Is  the  beautiful  Lily,  the  blossom  bright, 
Of  the  scarlet  Anemone. 

It  blooms  in  the  valleys,  it  climbs  on  the  hills, 
And  everywhere  brightens  the  sod. 

And  speaks  to  us  oft  of  the  lesson  He  taught, 
Of  a  confident  faith  in  God. 

So  I  gather  them  all  and  a  garland  I  weave, 

To  lay  at  His  blessed  feet, 
For  He  loved  all  the  flowers  of  Palestine, 

And  taught  me  their  lesson  sweet. 


CHILDREN    OF    NAZARETH 
May  22,  1907. 

I  walked  through  the  streets  of  Nazareth,  old, 

Where  the  Christ-child  once  passed  along, 
And  the  children  seemed  idle,  and  joyous,  and  rude, 

And  I  listened  in  vain  for  a  song. 
They  held  out  their  hands  with  the  cry,  "Backsheash" 

They  were  dirty,  and  rough,  and  wild, 
And  I  said,  "These  children  can  never  be 

Akin  to  the  dear  Christ-child." 

I  climbed  up  the  hill  in  the  heat  of  the  day, 

To  visit  the  Orphan  School! 
They  sang  a  sweet  song  at  their  work  and  play, 

And  love,  seemed  to  be  their  rule. 
They  brought  me  a  cool  and  refreshing  draught, 

They  were  thoughtful,  and  modest,  and  mild, 
And  I  said,  "I  am  sure  that  these  children  are 

Akin  to  the  dear  Christ-child." 

54 


I  said  to  the  teacher  with  gentle  face, 

"These  children  can  be  no  kin 
To  the  ones  I  saw  in  the  street  below," 

And  she  said,  with  a  smile  that  would  win, 
"But  these  we  have  mothered,  and  loved,  and  trained, 

They,  too,  were  once  rude  and  defiled." 
Then  I  saw  it  was  love  in  their  lives  that  had  made 

Them  akin  to  the  dear  Christ-child. 


CHILDREN  OF  NAZARETH 
(Sung  by  the  Children  in  the  Orphan  School) 

We  are  little  Nazareth  children, 
And  our  Father  placed  our  home 

'Mid  the  olive  trees   and  vineyards 
Where,  as  child  He  used  to  roam. 

For  the  Lord,  who  loves  the  children, 
And  was  glad  to  hear  their  praise, 

Cares  that  Nazareth  children  know  Him, 
Do  His  will  and  choose  His  ways. 

Cares  that  they  should  keep  in  memory 
All  that  sacred  life  spent  here; 

Try  in  heart  to  walk  beside  Him, 
Safe  and  happy  in  His  fear. 

Jesus  Savior,  dwell  within  us, 
Make  a  temple  of  each  heart, 

Pure  and  loving,  true  and  holy, 
For  Thy  service  set  apart. 


ON  THE  BEAUTIFUL  GALILEE 
May  21,  1907. 

I  sail,  I  sail  o  'er  thy  waters  blue, 

O  thou  beautiful  Galilee, 
Where  the  Lord  of  my  life  sailed  years  ago, 

The  Master  of  land  and  sea. 

I  gaze,  I  gaze  on  the  things  He  saw, 

As  over  the  deep  I  float, 
On  the  sky,  and  the  sea,  and  the  hills  about, 

And  the  humble  fisher 's  boat. 

I  sing,  I  sing  as  I  sail  along, 
O'er  thy  waters  so  glad  and  free, 

I  sing  to  the  dip  of  the  boatman  's  oar, 
The  songs  of  the  sighing  sea. 

I  watch,  I  watch  as  the  stars  come  out, 

And  the  moon  rises  over  the  hills, 
For  the  form  of  the  one  who  walked  thy  waves, 

And  His  presence  my  spirit  thrills. 

55 


I  list,  I  list  as  the  winds  arise, 
To  the  sounds  of  a  coming  gale, 

And  my  heart  is  filled  with  a  sudden  fear, 
As  the  storm  sweeps  by  with  a  wail. 

I  toss,  I  toss  on  thy  billows  wild, 
O  Lord  dost  thou  eare  for  mef 

Arise,  arise  from  thy  slumber  deep, 
Speak  peace  to  this  turbulent  sea. 

I  hear,  I  hear  His  commanding  voice, 
As  He  saith  to  the  winds,  ' '  Be  still, ' ' 

And  He  maketh  the  stormy  waves  a  calm, 
By  the  power  of  Hig  infinite  will. 


I  know,  I  know  He  is  here  today, 
For  He  maketh  my  storm  a  calm, 

To  my  troubled  spirit  He  speaketh  peace 
And  I  sing  Him  a  glad,  sweet  psalm. 

I  think,  I  think  as  the  days  go  by, 
And  the  thought  is  sweet  to  me, 
Of  the  day  that  I  spent  on  thy  waters  blue, 
O  thou  beautiful  Galilee. 


GETHSEMENE 
(Visited  May  24,  1907) 

I  crossed  the  ocean  wide  to  see 

This  sacred  garden  fair, 
This  holy  place,  Gethsemene, 

Where  Jesus  knelt  in  prayer. 
These  gnarled  old  olives  trees,  if  they 

Could  speak  with  bated  breath, 
Would  tell  us  how  He  stopped  to  pray, 

Ere  He  passed  on  to  death. 

The  shades  of  eve  had  gathered  round, 

The  moon  was  full  above, 
The  leaves  gave  forth  a  somber  sound, 

Yet  spoke  a  Father's  love. 
I  read  again  the  story  old, 

Beneath  the  fading  light, 
The  story  o'er  and  o'er  retold, 

The  tale  of  that  sad  night. 

Here,  at  the  entrance,  in  the  shade, 

He  bade  His  loved  ones  wait, 
And  here  upon  the  sod  they  laid, 

To  watch  about  the  gate. 
A  little  farther  on,  with  Him, 

The  three  who  loved  Him  most, 
Passed  through  the  shadows  vague,  and  dim, 

And  took  their  sentry  post. 

56 


Within  the  gloom,  as  oft  before, 

He  went  alone  to  pray, 
To  arm  Him  for  the  conflict  sore 

That  hasted  with  the  day. 
The  meaning  of  that  bitter  test 

We  ne  'er  shall  understand, 
The  cup  which  to  His  lips  He  pressed 

With  strong,  though  trembling  hand. 

'Twas  here  the  victory  was  won, 

That  makes  Him  conqueror  still, 
'Twas  here  He  bowed,  th '  Eternal  Son, 

To  do  His  Father 's  will. 
'Twas  here  the  strength  that  God  can  give, 

To  arm  one  for  the  right, 
Filled  all  His  soul  for  God  to  live, 

On  that  eventful  night. 

He  rose  to  meet  the  darkest  day 

The  world  has  ever  seen, 
The  powers  of  darkness  in  that  fray, 

Were  strong,  and  fierce,  and  keen. 
He  came  from  His  Gethsemene, 

His  last  great  struggle  o'er, 
To  wear  the  crown  of  victory 

Forever-ever-more. 

He  came  with  calm  and  steadfast  face, 

To  meet  the  coming  day, 
To  show  us  how  the  Father's  grace 

Is  given  to  those  who  pray. 
To  show  that  triumph  on  our  way 

And   victory  is  won, 
By  those  who  bow  their  hearts  and  say, 

'"Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done." 


Los  Angeles,  Calif. 


THE  GARDEN  OF  GETHSEMENE 

Is  this  the  place,  Oh  can  it  be, 
The  Garden  fair,  Gethsemene, 
Where  Jesus  prayed  so  long  ago, 
Pressed  down  to  death  with  human  woef 

Here  at  the  entrance,  near  the  gate 
There  tarried  His  disciples  eight, 
While  three  passed  on  in  deeper  shade, 
To  watch  with  Jesus  while  He  prayed. 

And  is  this  gnarled  old  olive  tree 
The  very  one  where,  kneeling,  He 
Poured  out  His  heart  to  God  in  prayer 
And  bowed  in  sweet  submission  there? 

57 


Was  ere  such  sorrow    'neath  the  sunf 
And  yet  He  said,  "Thy  will  be  done." 
He  drank  the  cup  with  faltering  breath, 
Yet  calmly  walked  the  way  to  death. 

This  is  indeed  a  Sacred  Place; 
The  Father  showed  His  smiling  face, 
And  strengthened  Him  to  meet  that  night 
The  woes  that  came  with  morning  light. 

THE   JERUSALEM  WATER   BOY 

With  a  turban  gay,  and  a  jacket  blue, 

And  a  shuffling  sandal  for  a  shoe, 
With   his  bottle  of  water  cool,  O  joy, 

Here  comes  the  Jerusalem  water  boy. 
With  never  a  call  from  his  lips  or  cry, 

Just  list  and  you'll  know  the  reason   why, 
Kap  a  tap  tap  and  tip  a  tap  tee, 

The  water  boy  must  be  very  near  me. 

'Tis  the  skin  of  a  pig,  his  water  sack, 

And  He  carried  it  strapped  upon  his  back, 
While  out  from  the  neck  to  his  little  cup, 

Comes  the  water  clear  and  bubbling  up. 
You  may  have  a  drink  for  a  copper  small, 

When  you  hear  the  sound  of  his  rattling  call. 
Rap  a  tap  tap  and  tip  a  tap  tee, 

The  water  boy  must  be  very  near  me. 

From  the  skin  of  a  pig  shall  T  drink,  nay,  nay, 

And  where  did  He  get  that  water,  pray? 
No  individual   cup  has  he, 

And  I  would  not  drink  were  the  water  free. 
It  is  full  of  microbes  I  know  full  well, 

I  will  take  mine  boiled  at  the  best  hotel. 
With  the  rap  a  tap  tap  of  his  rattling  cry, 

The  water  boy  may  pass  me  by. 


THE  EGYPTIAN  DONKEY  BOY 

Have  a  donkey,  sah,  dis  morning? 

Have  a  donkey,  sah,  today? 
Hassan'  donkey,  he  good  donkey, 

Only  shilling  for  de  pay. 
Only   shilling,   sah,   and   backsheash, 

Yankee  Doodle  is  his  name, 
To  the  pyramids  I  take  you, 

He  no  stumble,  he  no  lame. 

Too  much  money  for  my  donkey? 

For  a  sixpence  then  I  go, 
For  a  sixpence  and  a  baeksheash, 

Dat  is  very  cheap,  I  know. 
You  no  take  him,  my  good  donkey? 

I  will  tell  you  what  I  do, 
To  the  pyramids  I  take  you, 

Home  again  I  bring  you,  too. 

58 


Dat  boy 's  donkey,  no  good  donkey, 

He  go  slow,  he  kick,  Hee,  Hee! 
He  fall  down  and  break  your  leg,  sah, 

Take  a  donkey,  then,  from  me. 
For  a  sixpence  and  no  backsheash, 

I  will  take  you  all  around, 
Pyramids,  and  Sphinx,  and  temple, 

Bring  you  back  all  safe  and  sound. 

So  you  take  my  Yankee  Doodle, 

So  you  take  him,  sah,  all  right, 
For  a  sixpence  and  no  baeksheash, 

All  around  and  honor  bright. 
Now  away,  my  Yankee  Doodle, 

Do  your  best,  don 't  kick  or  fall, 
He  may  like  us  both  and  may  be 

Give  me  backsheash  after  all. 


Lodi,  Wis. 


59 


miscellaneous  Qroup 


EMANCIPATION  DAY 
Written  for  the  Celebration  of  Emancipation  Day,  January  1,  1900 

The  day  was  gone,  dark  shades  were  gathering  round, 
And  evening  dews  were  falling  to  the  ground. 
Upon  a  couch  there  fell  through  shutters  old 
One  lingering  beam  of  sunlight,  bright  as  gold, 
It  fell  upon  a  swarthy,  wrinkled  face, 
An  aged  pilgrim  ending  now  her  race. 
It  lighted  up  the  dark  and  cheerless  room, 
The  Master 's  cabin  which  she  called  her  home. 

Above  her  bent  with  anxious  face  a  child, 
The  pilgrim  raised  her  eyes  and  faintly  smiled; 
"Call  in  the  children,  bring  them  near,"  she  said, 
"I  want  to  see  them  all  about  my  bed." 
They  came  in  haste  with  tattered  garments  clad, 
They  came  with  tearful  eyes  and  faces  sad; 
They  came  with  reverent  attitude  and  mien, 
With  tender  love  in  every  movement  seen. 

"Let  no  one  weep  for  me  about  this  bed; 
Tonight   I'm   free,   I'm   free,   thank    God,"  she   said. 
"Long  years  we've  prayed  and  waited,  you  and  I, 
Long  years  the  Lord  has  heard  His  children  cry. 
We've  prayed  that  God  would  set  His  people  free; 
We've  prayed  that  He  would  give  us  liberty; 
And  yet  it  hath  not  come.     He  knoweth  best, 
I  leave  it  to  my  Lord  and  sweetly  rest. 

I  know  that  He  has  heard  our  mute  appeal, 
I  know  that  He  will  to  us  some  day  reveal 
Why  He  has  tarried,  why  has  waited  long, 
For  He  is  sure  to  right  all  human  wrong. 
And  you,  my  children,  you  will  see  the  day 
When  this  our  bondage  shall  have  passed  away; 
For  come  it  surely  must  and  come  it  will, 
Since  God  his  gracious  promise  doth  fulfill. 

Believe  in  Him,  my  children,  do  the  right, 

And   trust  that   He  will  guid<>  though   dark  the  night; 

Long  years  in  Egypt  did  His  people  spend, 

Their  backs  to  cruel  bondage  did  they  bend. 

But  freedom  came  at  last,  a  joyous  day, 

And  so  it  will  to  you;  then  watch  and  pray. 

I  leave  you  in  His  hands,  my  children,  dear, 

The  Lord  is  calling  me,  His  voice  I  hear." 

They  laid  her  to  rest  beneath  the  sod, 

Her  spirit  free  and  happy  with  its  God; 

Upon  the  mound  above  her  body  east 

They  placed  this  plain  inscription:  FREE  AT  LAST. 


That  day  for  which   she  humbly  longed   and  prayed 
Has  surely  come  at  last,  though  long  delayed, 
And  to  her  children  and  her  race  is  given 
Sweet  liberty,  best  gift  of  earth  or  heaven. 

63 


He  whom  the  Son  makes  free  is  free  indeed, 
No  greater  freedom  can  we  ever  need. 
The  bondage  of  the  hands  is  not  the  worst, 
The  bands  that  bind  the  soul  cannot  be  burst 
By  human  hands  or  Proclamation  given 
By  Jesus  only  can  these  chains  be  riven. 
He  only  gives  us  ease  from  bondage  sore 
Of  Spirit,  Mind  and  Body  evermore. 


Freedom  to  worship  God,  freedom  to  grow 
Into  His  image  and  likeness  here  below; 
Freedom  to  know  all  the  depths  of  His  love, 
Freedom  to  enter  His  kingdom  above. 
Freedom  to  read  His  word  where  e  'er  we  be, 
Freedom  to  carry  it  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Freedom   to  live   it   throughout   all   our   days, 
Freedom  to  worship  Him,  freedom  to  praise. 

Freedom  to  think  aright,  freedom  to  do 
Always  the  better  part  ne  'er  to  refuse, 
Freedom  to  think  aright,  freedom  to  do 
All  you  believe  to  be  honest  and  true. 
Freedom  to  speak  the  truth,  scorning  a  lie, 
And  in  defence  of  it  to  live  or  die. 
Freedom  to  be  a  man,  freedom  to  rise, 
Like  any  other  man  under  the  skies. 

Freedom  to  know  the  thoughts  other  men  think, 
Sit  at  the  fountain  of  knowledge  and  drink, 
Freedom  to  study  them  only  the  best, 
Choosing   the   noble   one 's,   scorning   the   rest. 
Freedom  to  choose  the  wise,  sit  at  their  feet, 
Learning  their  lessons  in  fellowship  sweet. 
Freedom  to  know  the  thoughts  of  other  times, 
Wisdom  of  other  men  in  other  climes. 

Freedom  of  body  as  well  as  of  mind, 
Freedom  to  be  to  it  thoughtful  and  kind, 
Freedom  to  keep  from  it  all  that  is  vile, 
Freedom  to  banish  all  things  that  defile. 
Freedom  to  train  it  to  beauty  and  grace, 
Carry  upon  it  a  bright  smiling  face. 
Freedom  to  make  it  God's  temple  to  be 
Holy  and  clean,  from  impurity  free. 

Freedom  to  labor  with  hand  and  with  brain, 
No  earnest  effort  is  ever  in  vain. 
Freedom  to  do  your  best,  e  'er  to  excell, 
Ne'er  to  be  satisfied  with  simply  well. 
Freedom  to  earn  your  cash,  save  it  or  spend, 
Only  to  use  it  for  the  very  best  end; 
Freedom  to  give  it  to  any  in  need, 
Doing  with  gladness  a  kind,  loving  deed. 

64 


Freedom  to  build  a  home  where'er  you  choose, 
Freedom  to  marry  or  right  to  refuse, 
But  if  you  make  a  home,  make  it  the  best 
That  the  sun  shines  upon  from  East  to  West. 
Freedom,  to  have  in  it  comfort  and  peace; 
Place  where  all  striving  and  turmoil  should  cease, 
Freedom  to  have  in  it  love  and  good  cheer, 
Freedom  to  welcome  your  friends  far  and  near. 


Now  can  you  conjure  up  anything  more, 
That  you  would  truly  desire  us  to  pour 
Into  your  schedule  of  liberties  dear, 
Sum  them  all  up  in  a  sentence  right  here; 
Freedom  to  do  the  right,  freedom  to  love, 
All  on  earth  or  in  heaven  above. 
All  that  is  noble  and  all  that  is  true, 
These  are  the  liberties  given  to  you. 

Ealeigh,  N.  C. 


BELLS  OF  THE  EASTER  MORNING 

Hark  to  the  bells  of  the  Easter  morning, 

Einging  their  glad  refrain, 
Telling  the  joy  of  the  old,  old  story, 

"Jesus  has  risen,"  again. 
Once  and  again  have  I  heard  thy  message, 

Echoed  each  Sabbath  Day, 
Purity  bells  of  the  Easter  Lilies, 

Eing  it  again  I  pray. 

Heavy  the  hearts  of  His  dear  disciples, 

Deep  was  the  pain  in  each  breast, 
When  in  the  hour  of  their  sorrow  and  anguish, 

Sadly  they  laid  Him  to  rest. 
Tell  me  no  more  of  the  cruel  scourging, 

Scepter,  and  crown  of  thorns, 
Past  are  the  garden,  the  cross,  and  the  darkness, 

Lost,  on  this  morn  of  morns. 

O  the  sweet  joy  of  that  Easter  morning, 

Hallowed  with  blessed  peace, 
Bringing  to  hearts  that  had  loved  and  lost  Him, 

Message  of  sweet  release. 
"Mother  of  Sorrows,"  look  up  from  thy  teardrops 

Into  the  face  of  thy  Lord. 
"Maid  of  Magdala,"  O  turn  from  thy  weeping, 

List  to  the  voice  of  His  word. 

Women  of  Galilee,  bearing  your  spices, 

Bowed  with  your  burden  of  pain, 
Look!  for  the  tomb  that  ye  seek  is  now  empty, 

Sealing  and  guard  were  in  vain. 
O  the  delight  of  those  humble  believers, 

Gone  are  their  bitter  tears, 
Eapture  of  joy  in  the  place  of  weeping, 

Flung  to  the  winds  their  fears. 

65 


Men  that  were  strong  in  the  strength  of  manhood, 

Weeping  like  children  now, 
Rose  to  the  triumph  of  them  that  conquer, 

Wearing  the  victor's  brow. 
Hopes  in  their  lives  that  had  well  nigh  perished, 

Though  like  the  ivy  they  cling 
Close  to  the  heart  that  is  wasting   'neath  them, 

Burst  like  the  budding  of  Spring. 

Thou  who  didst  rise  on  that  Easter  Morning, 

Peace  o  'er  the  world  to  bring, 
Come  to  my  heart  with  the  joy  of  Easter, 

Be  of  my  life  the  King. 
Come,  for  I  need  thy  life  abundant, 

Come  in  thy  fullness,  I  pray, 
Come  as  thou  didst  to  thy  sad  disciples, 

Enter,  this  Easter  Day. 

Come  with  the  joy  of  thy  resurrection, 

Send  me  with  message  sweet, 
Then,  to  the  hopeless  and  sad  will  I  gladly 

Hasten  with  flying  feet. 
Then  shall  my  life  be  filled  with  music, 

Then  shall  I  joyfully  bring, 
Like  the  sweet  bells  of  the  Easter  morning, 

Praises  to  Thee,  my  King. 


WOMAN'S  KINGDOM 

Woman  's  coming  to  her  kingdom, 

'Tis  the  year  of  jubilee, 
May  the  banner  of  her  freedom, 

Float  o  'er  every  land  and  sea. 
While  the  cruel  chains  yet  bind  her, 

In  the  lands  of  the  oppressed, 
Woman 's  coming  to  her  kingdom 

In  the  Empire  of  the  West. 

She  is  circumscribed  by  custom, 

Veiled,  and  bound,  and  fettered  fast, 
Like  a  prisoner  in  a  fortress, 

In  the  lands  of  "Ladies'  Last," 
But  anew,  the  wide  world  over, 

Hope  is  throbbing  in  her  breast, 
And  she's  coming  to  her  kingdom 

In  the  Empire  of  the  West. 

She  has  stood  for  education 

Over  all  this  western  world, 
And  the  standard  of  her  progress 

Everywhere  has  been  unfurled. 
College  doors  now  gladly  open, 

She  has  stood  their  keenest  test, 
Woman  soon  shall  find  her  kingdom 

In  the  Empire  of  the  West. 

66 


She  has  found  a  place  of  service, 

In  this  great  world's  busy  mart, 
Learned  to  think  and  speak  forth  clearly, 

Every  message  of  her  heart; 
Mothered  every  cause  of  justice/ 

Asking   not   for   ease   or   rest, 
May  she  prize  her  coming  kingdom, 

In  the  Empire  of  the  West. 

She  has  asked  for  equal  freedom, 

In  the  statutes  of  our  land, 
And  has  faced  the  scorn  of  thousands, 

By  this  righteous,  brave  demand. 
Did  not  weaken  in  her  efforts, 

Did  not  falter  in  her  quest, 
Woman  now  has  found  her  kingdom 

In  the  Empire  of  the  West. 

While  we  hail  her  larger  freedom, 

And  believe  it  great  and  good, 
May  she  evermore  remember 

Home  should  crown  her  womanhood. 
Home  is  still  her  queenly  province, 

Lo!    'tis  heaven's  high  behest, 
May  she  ne'er  despise  her  kingdom 

In  the  Empire  of  the  West. 

If  for  self  she  hoards  her  treasures, 

Gathered  at  such  pain  and  cost, 
If  she  boast  in  pride  of  conquest, 

All  advantage  may  be  lost. 
If  she  pass  not  on  to  others 

What  is  highest,  richest,  best, 
Woman,  too,  may  lose  her  kingdom 

In  the  Empire  of  the  West. 


TODDY  BOCKS 

The  morn  was  fair,  and  o'er  the  sea 

The  long  and  golden  beams 
Of  sunlight  fell  in  splendor  o  'er 

The  waves  in  copious  streams. 
They  lighted  up  the  grey  old  rocks 

Upon  New  England 's  shore, 
And  gleamed  and  flashed  like  diadems, 

The  rippling  waters  o'er. 

The  morn  was  calm  and  beautiful, 

The  sky  was  cloudless  blue; 
And  many  prophesied  the  day 

Would  prove  as  lovely,  too. 
The  people  thronged  upon  the  deck 

Of  gallant  "Lady  Grey," 
And  many  stood  upon  the  shore 

To  watch  her  sail  away. 

67 


For  near  and  far  the  word  had  gone, 

"At  sunrise,  without  fail, 
Let  all  the  people  hear  the  news, 

The  'Lady  Grey'  will  sail." 
And  as  the  first  beam  touched  her  mast 

And  lighted  up  her  side, 
The  people  saw  her  slowly  move, 

And  through  the  waters  glide. 

Ah!  could  some  prophet  have  foretold 

That  ere  the  set  o.f  sun 
This  gallant  ship  would  shattered  lie 

Before  its  race  was  run, 
He  would  have  cried  with  earnest  voice, 

That  morn  so  calm  and  fair, 
"O  'Lady  Grey,'  so  proud  and  gay, 

We  bid  you  to  beware. 

"Beware  of  treacherous  'Toddy  Bocks, ' 

Beware  the  breaker's  roar, 
For,  ere  the  sun  sinks  to  his  rest, 

You'll  fall  to  rise  no  more." 
But  no  one  dreamed  of  fate  like  this, 

Or  thought   of  rising  fear, 
And  all  on  board  were  light  and  gay, 

Nor  recked  of  danger  near. 

The  pleasure-seekers  laughed  and  sang, 

And  drank  the  rosy  wine, 
And  gave,  with  many  a  hearty  cheer, 

Thanksgiving  to  the  vine. 
A  gayer  party  never  sailed 

Across  the  rolling  main, 
They  drank  till  reckless  was  the  mind 

And  dizzy  was  the  brain. 

But  while  the  revel  reigns  within, 

A  storm-cloud  rises  high, 
And  spreads  its  darkened  visage 

O'er  the  clear  and  sunny  sky. 
And  still  the  revel  louder  grows, 

While  now  the  storm  comes  down, 
And  angry  waters  fret  and  foam, 

And  angry  surges  frown. 

The  gleaming,  vivid  lightning  leaped 

Athwart  the  murky  sky, 
And  peal  on  peal  the  thunder  rolled 

O  'er  billows  rising  high. 
The  reckless  revelers  within 

Stood  trembling  now  with  fears, 
As  lately  flowed  the  rosy  wine, 

Now  flowed  as  fast  their  tears. 

But  tears  with  them  could  not  avail, 
Nor  cries,  nor  groans  could  save 

These  terror-stricken  people  from 
A  deep,  and  watery  grave. 

68 


For,  by  the  lightning's  gleaming  flash, 

Between  the  thunder  shocks, 
Before  them  now  they  all  behold 

The  dreaded  "Toddy  Rocks." 

One  sudden  leap,  one  fatal  stroke, 

One  moan,  then   all  was  o  'er, 
And  shattered  to  a  shapeless  wreck, 

The  ship  lay  on  the  shore. 
O  cruel  rocks;  upon  your  strand 

Much  has  been  swept  away, 
As  full  of  hope,  as  full  of  cheer, 

As  gallant  "Lady  Grey." 

Full  many  a  gay  and  beauteous  barque 

Has  started  o'er  life's  sea 
As  full  of  promise  and  of  hope 

As  one  could  ever  be. 
But  ere  it  made  the  wished-for  port, 

Or  reached  the  distant  land, 
'Twas  wrecked  on  treacherous  "Toddy  Rocks," 

On  alcohol 's  quicksand. 

And  still  the  waves  roll  o  'er  those  rocks, 

And  still  no  lighthouse  marks 
The  place  where  they  have  dashed  ashore 

So  many  fated  barques. 
And  shall  it  evermore  be  thus? 

Shall  temperance  people  gaze 
Upon  the  ruin  daily  wrought 

And  they  no  warning  raise? 

We  '11  place  a  lighthouse  on  those  rocks, 

And  build  it  strong  and  high, 
And  light  it  with  the  electric  fire 

Of  heaven's  own  battery; 
And  it  shall  shine  to  bless  the  world, 

And   vessels,   sailing   nigh, 
Will  shun  the  dangers  of  the  way, 

And  pass  in  safety  by. 


Lodi,  Wis.,  1912. 


A   WINTER   IN   WISCONSIN 
(1912.) 

For  fourteen  Winters  in  the  South,  and  eight  on  coast  Pacific, 

I  've  traveled  up  and  down  the  land  mid  sights  and  scenes  prolific. 

But  I  have  suffered  so  with  heat  wherever  I  should  wend  me, 

I  wondered  if  a  cooler  place  they'd  ever  find  to  send  me. 

I  heard  Wisconsin  was  the  place,  if  you  could  keep  from  cough  'in, 

That  any  one  from  anywhere  could  go  to  get  cooled  off  in. 

I  'd  spent  some  time  there  when  a  child  and  so  could  well  remember 

The  lovely  Indian  Summer  time  that  came  about  September. 

69 


And  so  I  came  to  get  cooled  off  and  stay  there  with  my  sister, 
If  I  the  future  then  had  known  I'd  said  goodby  and  kissed  her. 
No  Indian  Summer  came  that  year,  it  rained  and  kept  a  rainin', 
And  then  it  rained  and  rained  some  more  and  still  the  cold  kept 

gainin '. 

And  when  it  came  to  Christmas  time,  set  in  real  Winter  weather, 
When  all  the  winters  of  the  world  seemed  tumbled  in  together. 
'Twould  freeze  and  freeze  and  freeze  some  more  and  then  keep 

on  a  freezin', 
You'd  sneeze  and  sneeze  and  sneeze  again  and  then  keep  on  a 

sneezin '. 

And  then  it  snowed  and  snowed  and  anowed  and  still  kept  on  a 

enowin ', 

On  top  of  which  it  blowed  and  blowed  and  then  kept  on  a  blowin '. 
The  snowdrifts  helped  up  high  and  higher,  most  to  my  chamber 

winder, 
I   wellnigh    crossed   to   neighbor 's   roof   with    no   blank   space   to 

hinder. 

The  children  oft  in  Summer  time  (I  saw  them  and  I  know  it), 
Would  tramp  the  grass  down  on  the  lawn  and  make  it  hard  to 

mow  it. 

Now  here 's  my  chance  to  give  a  hint,  a  little  cool  reminder 
That  it  would  better  be  if  they  should  be  a  little  kinder. 
T  put  a  sign  on  highest  drift  ('twas  better  than  to've  cussed   'em) 
And  when  they  read  "Keep  off  the  grass"  I  though  they'd  laugh 

to  bust   'em. 

The  nights  they  cold  and  colder  grew  and  then  a  litte  colder, 
To  zero,  then  to  far  below  as  th'  baby  year  grew  older. 
I  piled  the  bedclothes  high  and  higher,  and  then  I  tied  my  head  up, 
T  took  a  red  hot  iron  to  bed  and  almost  burnt  the  bed  up. 
I  thought  I'd  keep  it  there  all  night,  was  glad  I  didn't  do  it, 
If  I  had  kept  it  there  till  morn  my  feet'd  froze  fast  to  it. 

The  wind  it  knocked  and  pounded  hard  as  if  to  gain  admission, 
Inside  was  plenty  now  to  which  I  fain  woud  give  dismission. 
And  when  the  nights  were  still  the  house  would  creak  and  groan 

and  mutter, 

No  queerer,  stranger  sounds  I  ween  could  ghosts  or  goblins  utter. 
The  roof  would  creak  and  creak  and  creak  and  then  keep  on  a- 

creakin ', 

'Twas  well  it  couldn't  leak  and  leak  and  then  keep  on  a-leakin', 
I  thought  'twould  be  a  splendid  time  to  use  our  leaky  dishes, 
And  hurried  to  the  box  of  junk  to  carry  out  my  wishes. 
I  filled  with  water  from  the  well  our  leaky  old  teakettle, 
And  set  it  on  a  redhot  fire  to  try  and  test  its  metal. 
My  sister  said  she  knew   'twould  leak  and  do  it  in  a  minute, 
The  reason  why  it  didn't  was  the  water  froze  up  in  it. 

And  still  it  cold  and  colder  grew  and  then  a  little  colder, 

To  ten  below  thon  twenty  more,  Jack  Frost  was  getting  bolder. 

The  frost  upon  the  window  pane  grew  thick  and  then  grew  thicker, 

T  scratched  a  hole  and  tried  to  peak,  it  grabbed  me  like  a  sticker. 

It  froze  the  ground  so  very  deep  and  then  a  little  deeper, 

'Twill  be  ten  years  before  a  flower  can  open  tip  a  peeper. 

Then  it  began  inside  the  house  a-comin'  and  a-comin', 

To  keep  the  glare  intruder  out  we  kept  the  fires  a-hummin'. 

It  wasn  't  no  use,  our  plants  froze  up,  e  'en  to  our  Calla  lily, 

And  then  it  froze  our  victuals  up,  it  treated  us  so  illy. 

70 


Then  it  began  with  stealthy  step  to  creep  into  the  cellar, 
And  froze  up  every  single  thing,  from  beet  to  apples  meller. 
We  put  a  tub  of  water  down,  a  friend's  advice  a-trustin' 
When,  pretty  soon  we  heard  a  crack,  it  all  froze  up  a  bustin'. 
One  day  we  cooked  a  turnip  big  to  see  if  we  could  eat  it, 
Of  all  the  roots  I  ever  saw  that  turnip  surely  beat  it. 
'Twas  froze  so  hard  that  when  it  boiled  an  hour  and  a  minute, 
Right  in  the  middle  there  was  frost,  all  white  and  shinin'  in  it. 

I  was  so  mad  and  sorry  too  I  had  a  mind  to  beller, 

T 'd  raised  those  turnips  all  myself  and  put  them  in  the  cellar. 

I  surely  thought  one  thing  was  safe,  my  dear  cucumber  pickles, 

When,  lo,  I  found  to  my  disgust  they'd  turned  to  green  icicles. 

But  when  our  fruit  jars  went  to  smash,  that  was  a  dire  disaster, 

Our  troubles  sure  were  heapin'  up,  a-comin'  thick  and  faster. 

If  anything  I've  said  to  you  may  seem  exaggeration 

Then  just  remember  poets  have  a  strong  imagination. 

And  if  you  doubt  my  word  and  say,  "It  isn't  so,  I  know  it" 

Then  put  that  leetle  item  down  to  license  of  a  poet. 

At  last  it  let  up  just  a  bit  and  then  began  a'rainin', 

And  kept  it  up  in  drizzles  till  the  day  began  a  wanin'. 

It    froze    right    fast    to    everything,    till    shrubs    and    trees    were 

weighted. 

And  bending  to  the  very  earth  with  sparklin'  ice  all  freighted. 
That  night  it  cold  and  colder  grew  and  Jack  Frost  had  a  revel, 
With  all  his  little  imps  to  dance,  but  none  could  keep  his  level. 
They  fought  it  out  upon  the  roof  with  cry  and  thump  and  rattle, 
With  creak  and  moan  and  crack  and  groan,  a  sore  and  heavy  battle. 

Next  morning  when  it  oniet  grew,  though  it  was  cold  as  blixen. 
The  sight  thlit  met  my  dazzled  eyes,  to  tell  you  I  'm  a  fixin '. 
Ten  thousand  little  glassy  imps,  all  broken  up  like  tinder. 
Lay  scattered  everywhere  about  beneath  my  chamber  winder. 
With  legs  and  arms  and  feet  and  hands,  and  heads  just  like  a  bullet, 
Some  small,  some  large  and  larger  still,  as  big  as  ogg  of  pullet. 
Then  farther  out  upon  the  street  the  trees  with  limbs  a-droppin' 
As  if  a  whirlwind  left  them  so  a-hangin'  and  a-floppin'. 

Ah  me!  that  was  a  battle  sore,  a  terrible  disaster, 

The  giants  broke  each  other  up  and  neither  was  the  master. 

Whoe'er  can  scrape  up  all  these  limbs  and  gather  them  together 

And  bury  them  beneath  the  sod  this  awful,  awful  weather. 

T  just  made  up  my  mind  right  there,,  T  wouldn't  wait  no  longer, 

With   all  I  'd   passed  through   I  was   weak,  but   here   I  'd  get   no 

stronger, 

I  couldn't  stand  the  gaze  and  glare  of  all  these  bodies  horny, 
I'd  pack  my  trunk  this  very  day  and  go  to  Californy. 


THE    MUSIC    OF    THE    HEART 

There  is  music  all  around  us, 

In  the  earth  and  in  the  air, 
Over  hill  and  over  valley, 

We  can  hear  it  everywhere. 
There  is  music  in  the  humming 

Of  this  great  world  's  busy  mart, 
But  to  me  there  is  no  music 

Like  the  music  of  the  heart. 

71 


There  is  music  in  the  murmur 

Of  the  gentle  zephyr  breeze, 
As  it  sways  the  waving  grasses, 

As  it  plays  among  the  trees. 
There  is  music  in  the  fountain, 

Shooting  upward  like  a  dart, 
But  to  me  'tis  not  as  welcome 

As  the  music  of  the  heart. 

There  is  music  in  the  whistle 

Of  the  warbler  in  the  grove, 
As  he  chants  his  merry  ditty, 

Pouring  forth  a  song  of  love, 
As  he  swings  upon  the  branches, 

Or  into  the  air  doth  start; 
But  to  me  there's  something  sweeter, 

'Tis  the  music  of  the  heart. 

I  have  watched  the  foaming  billows 

As  they  broke  upon  the  shore, 
And  have  listened  to  the  music 

Of  their  deep  and  sullen  roar, 
And  I  love  to  hear  the  splashing 

As  they  rise  and  meet  and  part, 
But  the  sound  I  love  far  better 

Is  the  music  of  the  heart. 

There  is  music  in  the  peeling 

Of  the  mellow  evening  bells, 
As  the  breezes  bear  it  onward, 

As  upon  the  air  it  swells. 
To  my  weary  ruffled  spirit 

They  a  restfulness  impart, 
But  to  me  there's  something  dearer, 

'Tis  the  music  of  the  heart. 

There  is  music  in  the  ripple 

Of  the  brooklet  in  the  vale; 
There  is  melody  unrivaled 

In  the  ringdove's  tender  wail; 
There  is  msie  in  the  harpstrongs 

When  they're  swept  by  hand  of  art, 
But  to  me  there  is  no  music 

Like  the  music  of  the  heart. 


WHERE'S    THE    MOTHER    OF    THAT    CHILD? 

We  were  on  a  Pullman  sleeper, 

Every  berth  was  full  but  one. 
Most  of  us  were  getting  settled 

For  an  all-night  steady  run. 
"All  aboard,"  the  captain  shouted, 

When,  with  lean  and  haggard  face, 
Came  a  man  with  bag  and  baby, 

Looking  for  that  vacant  place. 

Every  eye  was  fastened  on  him, 

For  such  cries  you  never  heard, 
As  were  uttered  by  that  baby, 

Every  mother 's  son  was  stirred, 

72 


And  the  men  began  to  question, 

When  would  eease  these  accents  wild, 

Then  I  heard  a  woman  mutter, 

"Where's  the  mother  of  that  child f" 

There  was  sure  to  be  no  sleeping 

In  that  Pullman  all  the  night, 
For  those  cries  went  on  increasing. 

Seemed  to  be  from  spunk  or  fright. 
Though  the  father  tried  to  hush  her 

She  refused  to  be  beguiled, 
While  around  the  car  thev  questioned, 

"Where's  the  mother  of  that  child?" 

Some  one  whispered  round  the  rumor, 

And  it  fell  on  many  an  ear, 
That  perhaps  the  child  was  kidnapped, 

And  was  terrified  by  fear. 
Then  the  car  was  all  excitement, 

Question  upon  question  piled, 
And  they  grew  still  more  insistent, 

"Where's  the  mother  of  that  child!" 

I  could  stand  the  strain  no  longer, 

And  determined  I  wound  find 
Out  the  truth  about  the  matter, 

And  relieve  this  strain  of  mind. 
So  I  faced  this  young  kidnapper, 

And  in  accents  far  from  mild. 
Asked  him  if  he'd  please  to  tell  me 

Where's  the  mother  of  that  child? 

And  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me, 

And  they  pierced  me  like  a  dart, 
While  his  words,  and  looks,  and  manner 

Struck  me  to  the  very  heart, 
As,  with  lip  and  voice  a 'quiver, 

Teardrops  gleaming  like  a  star, 
"Madam,  she  is  in  her  casket, 

Yonder  in  the  baggage  car. ' ' 

Every  ear  was  strained  to  listen, 

Every  heart  was  filled  with  pain, 
And  the  women  gathered  round  him 

While  their  teardrops  fell  like  rain. 
"O  forgive  our  thoughtless  question, 

So  unkind  and  cruel  too, 
Let  us  take  your  orphan  baby, 

We  will  mother  her  for  you." 

And  they  nursed  the  little  stranger, 

As  alone  a  woman  can, 
While  the  men  with  words  of  healing 

Gathered  round  the  lonely  man. 
And  we  learned  a  needed  lesson, 

Needed  all  the  world  around, 
We  are  sisters,  we  are  brothers, 

Judge  not,  but  let  love  abound. 

73 


MONA    LISA 

A  noted  painting  stolen  from  the  Louvre  in  Paris. 
Visited  June,  1907. 

Mona  Lisa,  Mona  Lisa, 

O  my  lost  one  Mona  Lisa: 
With  thy  smile  so  long  in  waking, 
Over  thy  face  divinely  breaking, 
Perfect  form  of  beauty  making, 
With  thy  tresses,  rich  and  golden, 
Eyes  that  tell  the  story  olden, 
Lo,  in  rapture  I  am  holden. 

Fairer  than  the  fair  Louisa, 

Where  art  thou  my  Mona  Lisa. 

Mona  Lisa,  Mona  Lisa, 
O  my  cherished  Mona  Lisa: 
Since  my  heart  has  lost  its  treasure, 
And  that  loss  I  can  not  measure, 
Life  has  nevermore  a  pleasure. 
In  what  fortress  art  thou  hiding, 
In  what  palace  old  abiding, 
Tell,  O  tell  me  in  confiding. 

To  what  tower,  like  ancient  Pisa 
Have  they  carried  Mona  Lisa. 

Mona  Lisa,  Mona  Lisa, 

O  my  stolen  Mona  Lisa: 
In  what  prison  art  thou  lying, 
Where,  a  captive,  art  thou  sighing,, 
Let  me  haste  with  footsteps  flying. 
To  what  castle,  old,  forsaken, 
To  what  cave  hast  thou  been  taken? 
In  the  search,  O  world  awaken. 

Like  the  sons  of  ancient  Beza 

O  return,  my  Mona  Liza. 


Lodi,  Wis. 


THE   SHEPHERDESS'   LULLABY 

Hush,  little  one,  hush, 

Hear  the  waters  rush, 
As  the  brook  through  the  pasture  winds, 

I  will  fold  you  tonight 

In  your  blanket  as  white 
As  the  sheep  that  your  mother  minds. 

Sleep,  little  one,  sleep, 

Thy  mother  will  keep 
Her  vigil  the  long  night  through. 

The  lambs  of  the  flock 

Lie  on  the  hard  rock, 
But  my  bosom  is  under  you. 

74 


Sleep,  little  one,  sleep 
Like  the  meek-eyed  sheep 

Thy  mother  is  watching  tonight. 
No  cloud  shall  arise 

And  spread  o'er  the  skies, 

For  the  harvest  moon  shines  bright. 

Dream,  little  one,  dream, 

For  a  kindly  beam 
Is  shining  above  thy  head. 

The  angels  of  love, 

With  eyes  like  a  dove, 
Are  watching  about  thy  bed. 

Rest,  little  one,  rest, 

On  thy  mother's  breast, 
Thy  cares  are  all  folded  away; 

And  thy  face  is  seen 

With  a  smile  serene, 
So  rest,   'till  the  dawn  of  the  day. 


MY  ROBIN 

Eobin,  robin,  fly  away, 

Soon  will  comes  a  colder  day. 
Eain,  and  frost,  and  snowy  weather, 
Wind,  and  sleet,  and  ice  together; 
Worm,  and  bug,  and  seed  all  covered, 
As  if  by  snow-pinions  hovered; 

Stay  no  longer  here  I  pray. 

Eobin,  haste,  and  fly  away. 

Eobin,  robin  fly  away. 

Gathered  are  the  grain  and  hay, 
Stacked  away  up  in  the  dormer. 
Fly  away  to  regions  warmer. 
I  regret  to  have  you  leave  me, 
Little  pet  'twill  sorely  grieve  me, 

I  shall  miss  your  cheerful  lay, 

But  my  robin  must  away. 

Eobin,  robin,  fly  away. 

Gone  the  meadowlark  and  jay, 
Gone,  the  soiigthrush  from  the  hedges, 
Goose  and  plover  from  the  sedges, 
Gone,  from  off  the  grass  and  heather 
Every  bird  with  beak  or  feather, 

Oriole  with  plumage  gay, 

Eobin,  dear,  you  must  away. 

Eobin,  robin,  if  you  stay 

You  must  suffer,  tell  me  pray 
Would  you  stay  to  weather  zero, 
Stay,  to  show  yourself  a  hero, 
Stay,  to  hear  the  sleighbells  jingle, 
Stay,  until  your  toes  shall  tingle, 

In  the  snow  your  eggs  to  lay? 

Little  robin,  will  it  pay! 

75 


Eobin,  robin,  why  delay, 

Skies  are  growing  cold  and  gray. 
You  must  go,  I  know  not  whither, 
Long  and  hard  your  journey  thither. 
Late  already  is  the  season, 
For  this  waiting  give  me  reason. 

Wait  no  longer,  but  obey. 

Robin,  do  not  tell  me  nay. 

Robin,  robin,  will  you  say 
Your  goodby  and  then  away? 
Now  at  last  I  hear  you  utter 
Sweet  farewell  with  wing  a-flutter. 
In  the  Spring  come  back  a-singing, 
When  the  May-bells  are  a-ringing, 

Or  in  April,  dear,  you  may. 

Eobin,  now  away,  away. 


Lodi,  Wis.,  1912. 


MY  KITTIE 

0  pretty  is  my  kittie  puss, 
Now  list  to  what  I  say, 

And  would  you  know  her  color,  well 
She's  white  all  dapped  with  grey. 

At  early  morn  she  comes  to  sit 

Upon  my  window  sill, 
If  I  don 't  rise  to  let  her  in 

She  thinks  I  must  be  ill. 

She  follows  me  around  all  day, 
Where  'er  I  chance  to  go, 

1  don't  know  why,  but  still  I  guess 

'Tis  'cause  she  loves  me  so. 

She  knows  my  voice,  she  knows  my  step, 

She  knows  my  very  dress, 
And  if  I  change  it  for  a  new 

It  fills  her  with  distress. 

My  kittie  is  a  mouser,  too, 

She  loves  the  dainty  meat, 
And  oft  she  brings  her  trophies  in 

And  lays  them  at  my  feet. 

I  call  her  puss,  I  call  her  pet, 

And  give  a  gentle  tap, 
When  up  she  springs  upon  my  knee 

And  cuddles  in  my  lap. 

Sometimes  she  climbs  upon  the  shelf, 

Those  times  are  very  few, 
And  if  I  ask  her  why  she  does, 

She  only  says,  "Mew-ew. " 

76 


She  climbs  upon  my  shoulder  high, 
And  there  she  loves  to  stand, 

And  rub  her  soft  and  silky  fur 
Against  my  face  and  hand. 

I'm  fond  of  my  own  kittie,  puss, 

And  she  is  fond  of  me. 
We  know  each  other 's  ways  right  well, 

We  two  are  friends,  you  see. 


OLD  GLORY 

There's  a  flag  of  song  and  story, 

In  the  land  I  love  the  best; 
'Tis  the  flag  we  call  '  'old  Glory, ' ' 

With  its  stripes  and  starry  breast. 
I  have  sailed  the  wide  seas  o'er, 

Under  flags  of  lands  galore, 
But  Old  Glory  I  adore, 

In  the  empire  of  the  west. 

Underneath  thy  wings,  Old  Glory, 

Men  have  gathered  to  they  nest: 
They  have  come  from  nations  hoary, 

And  their  love  for  thee  confessed. 
They  have  sworn  allegiance  true, 

To  thy  land — red,  white,  and  blue, 
And  thy  liberty  so  new, 

In  the  empire  of  the  west. 

Hear  the  God  of  Peace,  Old  Glory, 

And  obey  His  high  behest, 
May  no  stains  from  fields  of  gory 

Ere  bedim  thine  azure  crest. 
May  the  people  of  thy  land, 

Bound  by  love 's  eternal  band, 
For  thy  truth  and  freedom  stand, 

In  the  empire  of  the  west. 

CHORUS 

Banner  bright,  take  the  light, 
Carry  hope  to  all  oppressed, 
From  the  empire  of  the  west. 

Lodi,  Wis.,  1912. 


BELLS  OF  CHRISTMAS  MORNING 

A  meditation  written  for  my  Sunday  School  class. 

Hark  to  the  bells  of  the  Christmas  morning, 

Ringing  their  glad  refrain, 
Telling  the  joy  of  the  old,  old  story, 

Peace  upon  earth  again. 
Once  and  again  have  I  heard  thy  message; 

Shepherd  and  babe  and  star. 
Wise  men  who  came  with  their  gifts  and  homage, 

Seeking  the  King  from  afar. 

77 


Thou  Who  are  wiser  than  all  the  wisdom 

Now  to  Thy  footstool  bring, 
Thou  Who  art  higher  than  all  the  holy, 

Be  of  my  life  the  king. 
Make  of  my  heart  a  fitting  temple; 

Cleanse  it  from  sin  I  pray. 
Come  as  Thou  dids't  at  the  dedication, 

Enter  this  Christmas  day. 

Come,  for  I  need  Thy  peace  and  pardon, 

Come,  for  I  need  Thy  power, 
Need  to  be  kept  from  the  world's  temptations, 

Keep  me  each  day  and  hour. 
Then  shall  I  live  with  a  noble  purpose; 

Then  shall  I  joyfully  bring, 
Like  the  sweet  bells  of  the  Christmas  morning 

Praises  to  Thee  my  King. 


Dec.  25,  1903. 


THANKSGIVING  DAY 

Thanksgiving  Day  has  come  again, 

The  brightest  and  the  best 
Of  all  the  happy  holidays, 

With  which  our  lives  are  blest. 

This  is  the  day  when,  long  ago, 
On  fair  New  England's  shore, 

The  Pilgrims  met  to  thank  the  Lord, 
And  count  their  blessings  o  'er. 

Full  many  a  day  they'd  cried  for  bread 

And  fasted  and  were  sad, 
But  now,  the  harvest  gathered  in, 

They  feasted  and  were  glad. 

In   memory   of   that   gladsome   day 

We  keep  our  Harvest  Feast, 
And   count   our  blessings  o  'er  and   o  'er, 

The  greatest  and  the  least. 

This  is  the  day,  the  day  of  days, 

When  all  the  children  come, 
And  gather  with  a  merry  heart 

Within  the  dear  old  home. 

This  is  the  day  when  in  God's  house 
We  meet  from  far  and  near, 

And  with  a  thankful  heart  record 
The  blessings  of  the  year. 

This  is  the  day  when  round  our  board 

We  gather  with  good  cheer, 
And  share  our  bountiful  supply 

With  friends  and  comrades  dear. 

78 


This  is  the  day  when  to  the  poor 

We  send  a  generous  part, 
When  dainties  pass  from  hand  to  hand, 

And  joy  from  heart  to  heart. 

This  is  the  day  when  all  the  world 

A  sense  of  kinship  feel, 
And,  thankful  for  our  own  good  gifts, 

We  seek  another's  weal. 

May  we  within  whose  daily  life 
God's  blessings  doth  abound, 

Pass  on  to  those  who  have  them  not, 
A  share,  the  world  around. 


I  LOVE  THE  WEST 

I  love  the  West,  the  wild,  wild  West; 
I  love  its  snow-capped  mountains; 
Its  canons,  valleys,  sunny  glens, 
Its  forest 's  deep  and  grassy  fens, 
Its  streams  and  dashing  fountains. 

I  love  the  West,  the  new,  new  West; 
Her  veins  new  blood  is  flushing; 
New  homes,  new  towns,  new  cities  rise; 
From  every  land  beneath  the  kies 
New  life  to  her  is  rushing. 

I  love  the  West,  the  Christless  West; 

My  heart  goes  out  in  sorrow 

To  miners',  loggers',  ranchers'  camp, 

To  thousands  hearts  without  God's  Lamp:- 

Oh!  dark  must  be  their  morrow. 

I  love  the  West,  the  Christian  West; 
God  bless  the  sons  and  daughters 
Who  hasten  there,  God's  word  to  take, 
Who  spend  their  lives  for  His  dear  sake, 
Who  sow  beside  all  waters. 

I  love  the  West,  the  Baptist  West; 

Above  the  highest  banner 

I  love  to  see  her  colors  float, 

And  hear  her  clear,  strong  bugle  note — 

May  Heaven's  breezes  fan  her. 

I  love  the  West,  the  coming  West, 
When  all  our  land  adorning, 
The  Sun  of  Eighteousness  shall  rise, 
And  luminate  the  western  skies. 
Oh,  usher  in  that  morning! 

79 


THE  BAPTIST  OF  THE  WEST 

From  the  world  of  thought  and  action, 

From  its  heroes  in  the  strife, 
Comes  a  word  of  inspiration, 

Comes  a  message  to  my  life; 
And  I  welcome  it  with  gladness, 

And  I  read  it  with  a  zest, 
And  I  ponder  well  its  pages — 

'Tis  The  Baptist  of  the  West. 

How  I  long  for  information 

From  the  world 's  great  battlefield. 
Does  the  truth  go  on  to  conquer? 

Do  the  powers  of  evil  yield? 
Is  the  kingdom  coming  nearer? 

Do  God's  people  stand  the  test? 
"Day  is  dawning,"  cries  the  watchman, 

From  The  Baptist  of  the  West. 

Well  I  prize  association 

With  the  wise,  and  great,  and  good, 
With  the  thinkers  and  the  leaders 

Of  our  common  brotherhood. 
I  could  never  see  or  meet  them, 

Though  around  the  word  my  quest, 
But  I  hear  them  and  I  know  them, 

Through  The  Baptist  of  the  West. 

What   has   unified    our   people, 

East  and  West  together  brought, 

Stood  for  broad  cooperation, 

Many  reformations  wrought? 

What  has  furnished  us  a  forum 

For  these  themes  and  all  the  rest? 

What  has  led  the  van  of  progress? 
'Tis  The  Baptist  of  the  West. 

Would  you  have  your  own  life  deepened, 

And  intensified,  and  fed? 
Would  you  be  inspired,  and  quickened, 

Into  broader  knowledge  led? 
Would  you  both  in  thought  and  action 

With  our  leaders  keep  abreast? 
Would  you  be  equipped  for  service? 

Take  The  Baptist  of  the  West. 


RHYMES  OF  BLICKENSDERFER 

Do  you  hear  my  little  Blick, 
Hear  it  clatter,  hear  it  click? 

There  are  jingles  in  my  mind 

That  through  it  expression  find; 

Ehymes  that  will  not  tarry  long 

If  they're  not  expressed  in  song. 

When   they   come   I  catch   them   quick 
And  preserve  them  on  my  Blick. 

80 


Do  you  hear  my  little  Bliek, 
Hear  it  rattle,  hear  it  tick? 
When  my  hands  are  on  the  keys 
I  can   think  and  write  with   ease, 
And  I  do  not  dare  delay 
Or  my  rhymes  will  slip  away. 

When  they  come  a-tumblin'  thick 
Then  I  hie  me  to  my  Blick. 

Do  you  hear  my  little  Blick, 
Hear  it  patter,  hear  it  pick? 
When  my  rhymes  are  comin'  slow 
Then  she  jogs  them  up  you  know, 
When  they  do  not  come  at  all 
Then  she  brings  them  by  her  call. 
She 's  a   clipper,   she 's   a  brick, 
You  should  buy  a  little  Blick. 


Lodi,  Wis.,  1912. 


A  TRIBUTE  TO  THE  LIFE  OF  MES.  J.  Q.  A.  HENRY 

I  am  asked  for  a  tribute  in  fitting  words  dressed, 

A  tribute  of  praise  to  the  memory  blessed 

Of  her  who  is  crowned  in  the  glory  above, 

Of  her  who  so  won  our  affection  and  love 

And  where  shall  I  find  the  words  fitting  and  meet, 

To  weave  in  a  garland  and  lay  at  her  feet, 

And  how  can  I  tell  what  can  never  be  told, 

For  her  beauty  and  grace  I  can  never  unfold. 

When  she  came  to  this  earth  from  the  heavens  above 
There  dropped  form  her  fingertips  jewels  of  love. 
The   flowers   that   bloomed  in   her   garden   fair 
Ou  others  she  lavished  with  tenderness  rare. 
She  brightened  the  path  of  the  weary  and  sad 
With  the  smile  of  her  face,  and  was  evermore  glad 
To  lighten  the  burden  and  banish  the  tear, 
And  scatter  her  treasure  of  love,  far  and  near. 

Her  life  was  as  fair  as  a  morning  in  June, 
And  bright  as  the  sunshine  that  beams  at  highnoon, 
And  pure  as  the  lily  that  blossoms  today, 
And  sweet  as  the  apple  bloom  over  the  way. 
'Twas  the  spirit  of  love  that  crowned  all  her  days 
With  the  rapture  of  joy,  and  of  glory,  and  praise. 
It  spread  o'er  her  features  with  radiance  bright, 
The  spirit  of  grace,  and  of  blessing,  and  light. 

She  climbed  the  high  mountains  to  view  the  world  o  'er, 
And  loved  all  the  people  on  every  shore. 
She  welcomed  the  strangers  that  came  to  our  land 
And  gave  them  the  Gospel  with  bountiful  hand. 
She  believed  in  the  Kingdom  of  God  among  men, 
And  prayed   for  its   coming   again   and   again. 
She  showed  us  the  part  that  a  woman  may  do 
To  tell  the  old  story  that 's  evermore  new. 

81 


Her  courage  was  high  and  her  faith  it  was  strong, 
For  she  knew  that  the  Gospel  could  right  every  wrong; 
So  she  laid  down  her  life  at  the  dear  Master 's  feet 
And  drew  others  to  Him  with  an  influence  sweet. 
Say  not  she  has  passed  from  our  midst  now  away, 
For  a  spirit  like  hers  on  His  footstool  may  stay 
To  show  to  us  how  that  the  Father  above 
May  fill  a  life  full  of  His  infinite  love. 


MARCH 

March!   March!   Blustering  March! 
This  is  the  strangest  of  weather; 
Stormy,  and  windy,  and  sunny,  and  calm, 
Eainy,  and  snowy,  and  breezy,  and  balm, 
Days  that  are  quiet,  and  days  that  are  cold, 
Sweeping  along  like  a  hurricane  bold, 
These — like  the  threads  of  a  tangled  skein, 
Are  hopelessly  mixed  in  together. 


SEPTEMBER 

September  days  are  golden 

The  fruitage  of  the  year 
Is  bending  low  in  beauty, 

The   harvest   draweth   near. 
So  may  our  lives  in  fragrance 

And  fruitfulness  abound, 
And  yield  to  all  their  sweetness 

And  wealth  the  whole  year  round. 


THE  NUMBER  THIRTEEN 

Here  comes  a  new  day  with  the  number  thirteen, 
Don 't  let  your  head  swim  or  your  eyes  grow  green. 
No  harm  with  my  coming  shall  ever  befall, 
And  the  ghosts  and  the  goblins  won't  get  you  at  all. 
'Tis  a  shadow,  a  scarecrow,  _a  phantom,  I  ween, 
For  no  harm  ever  came  from  the  number  thirteen. 


FOR  MY  FRIEND'S  ALBUM 

My  friend,  thou  art  fair  as  a  day  in  June 
And  bright  as  the  sunshine  at  morning  or  noon, 
And  pure  as  the  lily  that  blossoms  today, 
And  sweet  as  the  apple  bloom  over  the  way. 
Whenever  you  came  to  the  earth  from  above, 
There  dropped  from  your  finger-tips  jewels  of  love. 
'Twas  not  in  the  dead  of  the  Winter  I  ween, 
'Twas  not  when  the  leaflets  all  withered  are  seen. 
'Twas  not  in  the  heat  of  the  Summer  I  trow, 
'Twas  in  June,  the  most  beautiful  season,  I  know. 
And  as  seven  is  the  number  all  perfect  in  fame, 
It  must  be  that  this  is  the  day  that  you  came. 

82 


GOING  UP  FOOL'S  HILL 

I  love  all  the  dear  little  children, 

And  with  them  my  room  you  may  fill, 

But  don 't  send  the  lads  or  the  lasses 
That  are  just  going  up  fool's  MIL 

I'm  at  home  with  the  pupils  in  junior, 
For  a  touch  of  the  child  they  have  still, 

Don 't  give  me  the  youth  or  the  maiden, 
That  are  just  going  up  fool's  hill. 

There  are  things  I  can  do  and  I  know  it, 

But  for  others  I  fear  I  am  nill, 
Don 't  ask  me  to  take  any  pupils 

That  are  just  going  up  fool's  hill. 

I  imagine  I  never  was  like  them, 

I'm  sure  it  would  be  a  bad  pill 
To  be  told  I  was  ever  related 

To  the  foks  that  are  climbing  fool's  hilL 

It  may  be  my  fault,  and  I  own  it, 

I  certainly  bear  them  no  ill, 
But  I  can't  take  the  lads  and  the  lasses, 

That  are  just  going  up  fool's  hill. 

I  know  they  need  something  to  help  them, 

And  I  hope  that  somebody  will 
Make  friends  with  the  lads  and  the  lasses, 

That  are  just  going  up  fool's  MIL 

Sometimes  I  look  at  them  in  sorrow, 
Would  give  them  a  lotion  or  pill, 

Or  a  dose  of  some  kind  that  would  send  them, 
Bight  up  to  the  top  of  fool's  hill. 

When  they  got  to  the  top  I  will  greet  them, 
Their  conquest  my  spirit  will  thrill, 

And  together  in  friendship  we'll  journey, 
And  never  more  mention  fool's  MIL 


Miss  Miller  wrote  many  songs  to  use  in  her  various  schools  and 
children 's  meetings.     The  following  four  are  samples  of  them: 

BELLS  OF  EASTER  MORNING 

Hark  to  the  bells  of  Eastern  morning 

Good  news  they  bring 
Over  the  grave  He  rose  victorious 

Jesus  our  I7ord  and  King. 

CHORUS 

Oh  the  bells,  the  bells  of  Easter 

Chase  the  night  away, 
Welcome  the  resurrection  morning 

Dawn  of  a  glad  new  day. 

83 


No  more  the  anguish  of  the  garden, 

No  erown  of  thorns, 
Past  are  the  cruel  cross  and  darkness, 

Lost  on  this  morn  of  morns. 

No  more  the  pain  of  those  who  loved  Him, 

No  more  their  tears; 
Rapture  of  joy  in  place  of  weeping 

Flung  to  the  winds  their  fears. 

Come  to  my  heart  with  Easter  blessings 

Thou  King  of  peace, 
Send  me  to  bear  the  joyful  tidings 

Message  of  sweet  release. 


WELCOME   TO   ALL 

Written  for  the  dedication  of  the  new  chapel,   1919. 
Welcome  to  all  on  this  glad  Sabbath  day, 
List  to  our  call,  "Welcome  to  all." 
Gaily  we  sing  you  our  sweet  roundalay 
Greeting  and  wecome  to  all. 

CHORUS 

Welcome  to  father  and  mother  and  friend 
Welcome  to  teachers,  who  guide  and  defend; 
Welcome  to  children  to  large  and  to  small, 
Greeting  and  welcome  to  all. 

To  our  new  chapel  we  're  glad  you  have  come, 
List  to  our  call.     ' '  Welcome  to  all. ' ' 
Welcome  with  joy  to  our  new  Sabbath  home; 
Greeting  and  welcome  to  all. 

We  dedicate  to  our  Father  above 
This  house  of  prayer,  this  temple  fair, 
While  with  rejoicing  and  hearts  full  of  love 
Glad  songs  of  praise  fill  the  air. 


OAT.TT.EE 

O  Galilee  with  waters  blue 

With  arching  skies  of  varied  hue 

With  hills  and  mountains  scattered  wide 

O  bear  me  on  thy  swelling  tide. 

CHORUS 

O  Galilee,  blue  Galilee!  Where  Jesus  loved  so  much  to  be, 
O  Galilee,  dear  Galilee;  Come  sing  thy  songs  again  to  me. 

/ 

Lord  of  my  life,  in  days  of  yore 

Who  sailed  thy  foaming  billows  o'er; 

Walked  on  thy  crested  waves  at  will 

And  calmed  them  with  His  "Peace  be  still." 

84 


'Twas  here  the  multitude  He  fed 

To  better  life  the  erring  led, 

Hia  very  self  in  love  he  gave 

With  heart  to  serve  and  power  to  save. 

And    when    I    read    the    thrilling    lore, 

Of  Him  who  walked  upon  thy  sea, 
I  long,  oh  how  I  long  once  more, 
To  walk  with  Him  in  Galilee. 


THE  SONG  OF  ANGELS 
(Tune,  Swanee  River) 

Far  o'er  the  hills  of  old  Judea, 

Long,  long  ago, 
Shepherds  beneath  the  stars  were  watching, 

Flocks  lying  soft  and  low. 

CHORUS 
O  the  song,  the  song  of  angels, 

Ringing  through   the   sky, 
Good  will  and  peace  from  heaven  bringing, 

Glory  to  God  on  high. 

What  means  the  coming  of  the  angels, 

The  sky  along? 
What  means  the  glory  all  around  them? 

What  means  their  deathless  song .' 

Welcome  the  joyful,  blessed  tidings, 

Good  news  for  all, 
To  you  is  born  this  day  a  Savior, 

Welcome  to  cot  and  hall. 

Tell  me  again  the  old  sweet  story, 

At   Christmas   time, 
The  birthday  of  the  Lord  of  glory, 

Sing  me  the  old  sweet  chime. 


THE  LORD  HATH  SPOKEN  TO  MY  HEART 
Rev.  3:20 

The  Lord  hath  spoken  to  my  heart, 

Let  all  the  world  be  still, 
Hushed  every  voice  that  lures  away 

From  His  most  holy  will. 

The  Lord  hath  spoken  to  my  heart, 

In  tones  of  tender  love, 
Like  heavenly  music  wafted  down 

From   out   His   throne   above. 

The  Lord  hath  spoken  to  my  heart, 

So  full  of  deep  unrest, 
I  opened  wide  and  let  Him  in 

And   I   am   richly   blest. 

85 


The  Lord  hath  spoken  to  my  heart, 

To  answer  is  but  meet, 
And  at  the  table  of  His  love 

We  hold  communion  sweet. 

The  Lord  hath  spoken  to  my  heart, 

And  I  can  ne'er  forget; 
The  memory  of  that  precious  hour 

Abides  to  cheer  me  yet. 

The  Lord  hath  spoken  to  my  heart, 

Hath  set  my  spirit  free, 
I:i  glad  response  I'll  follow  Him, 

The  Man  of  Galilee. 

The  Lord  hath  spoken  to  my  heart, 
In  earnest,  strong  command, 

For  very  love  of  Him  I'll  go 
To  toil  on  sea  or  land. 

The  Lord  hath  spoken  to  my  heart, 
I  ne'er  shall  doubt  Him  more, 

But  in  the  sweetness  of  his  trust, 
Abide,  believe,  adore. 


CONSECRATION 

I  give  myself  to  Thee. 

0  Lord,  it  is  my  will 
That  I  to  Thee'belong. 
Self -life  of  old  be  still! 
Christ-life  within  be  strong! 

1  give  myself  to  Thee. 
Give  thou  thyself  to  me. 

I  give  myself  to  Thee. 
My  body  is  thy  home, 
Thy  temple,  set  apart. 
Possess  thou  every  room, 
Abide  thou  in  my  heart. 
I  give  myself  to  Thee. 
Give  thou  thyself  to  me. 

I  give  myself  to  Thee. 

My  mind  with  all  its  powers, 

Make  thou  thy  royal  throne. 

Fill  all  my  days  and  hours 

With  plans  and  thoughts  thine  own. 

I  give  my  mind  to  Thee. 

Give  thou  thy  mind  to  me. 

1  give  myself  to  Thee. 
My  spirit,  thou  didst  give, 
I  yield  to  thy  control. 
Life  more  abundant  live 
Within  my  inmost  soul. 
I  give  my  life  to  Thee. 
Give  thou  thy  life  to  me. 

86 


I  give  myself  to  Thee. 
All  that  I  e'er  possessed, 
Or  even  called  it  mine, 
At  thy  divine  behest 
I  joyfully  resign. 
I  give  my  all  to  Thee. 
Give   thou   thine   all  to   n 


THY  WILL  BE  DONE 

Submission  to  my  lot  whate  'er  it  be, 

Teach  me,  O  Lord,  to  know,  thy  hand  to  see, 

In  every  path  of  life  still  guiding  me. 

Where  Thou  dost  lead,  O  Lord,  I  fain  would  go, 
And  gladly  would  submit,  content  to  know, 
That  Thou  art  leading  through  this  vale  below. 

O  let  me  learn  this  lesson,  truth  complete: 
Where  Thou  dost  lead,  the  path  is  ever  sweet, 
And  roses  bud  and  bloom  beneath  my  feet. 

Bid  all  my  doubt  and  darkness  disappear, 

May  I  from  hence  feel  naught  of  tomorrow 's  fear, 

But  see  my  way  with  vision  bright  and  clear. 

But  though  I  cannot  see  the  way  all  bright, 
And  Thou  dost  still  deny  to  me  the  light, 
Help  me  to  walk  by  Faith  and  not  by  sight. 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing  is  rest, 
And  Peace  is  found  upon  Thy  loving  breast, 
Here,  trusting  Thee,  I  am  supremely  blest. 


SOLITUDE 

0  solitude,  quiet  and  peaceful, 

O  rest-giving,  slumb  'ring  retreat, 

1  long  for  a  bower  in  the  wild-wood, 
With   comforting   silence   replete. 

To  rid  me  of  strife  and  commotion, 
In  quietude  sweetly  to  dream, 

To  rest  me  awhile  in  the  wild-wood, 
Where  solitude  reigneth  supreme. 

I  roamed  through  the  depth  of  the  forest, 

Where  man  never  wandered  before, 
And  solitude  sought  and  retirement, 

As  oft  I  had  sought  it  of  yore; 
But  still  there  were  voices  about  me, 

Whose  sounds  falling  sweet  on  my  ear, 
Soon  robbed  my  poor  heart  of  its  burden, 

And  comfort,  and  rest  I  found  here. 

87 


The  pines  waived  their  branches  above  me, 

The  stream  rippled  cheerfully  by, 
The  breeze  whispered  softly  about  me, 

And  swept  the  tall  grass  growing  nigh. 
The  birds  warbled  songs  full  of  gladness, 

And  filled  the  dark  woods  with  their  glee, 
Endeavor 'ng  to  drown  with  their  music, 

The  quieter  hum  of  the  bee. 

My  heart  joined  the  gladsome  hosannah, 

Now  wafted  in  fullness  along, 
Its  strings  that  were  weary  with  sighing 

Were  tuned  to  the  service  of  song. 
I  eame  to  find  silence  and  quiet, 

And  lo!  nature  taught  me  her  ways, 
And  returned  me  to  life  and  to  duty, 

With  a  heart  full  of  jubilant  praise. 


IN  MY  QUIET  COVE  SECURE 

As  I  sit  beside  the  ocean, 
Just  beyond  the  fisher's  docks, 
I  can  hear  the  sound  of  breakers, 
Dashing,  booming  on  the  rocks. 
But  I  rest  me  far  from  danger, 
In  my  quiet  cove  secure, 
And  no  siren  sound  could  woo  me, 
Or  from  hiding  place  allure. 

I  can  see  the  foaming  billows 
Lashing  high  with  misty  spray, 
Pounding,  bounding,  and  resounding, 
Will  they  tear  the  rocks  away? 
When   they   reach   me   they   are   ripples, 
Lapping  on  the  yellow  sand, 
Laughing,  playing,  and  rejoicing, 
As  they  kiss  the  golden  strand. 

So  when  I  shall  hear  the  rising, 
Of  some  tempest  in  this  world, 
I  shall  be  within  the  harbor, 
With  my  tiny  sails  all  furled; 
In  the  heavenly  Father's  keeping, 
Safe  and  calm,  without  alarm, 
By  His  love  and  care  infolded, 
There  can  be  no  loss,  no  harm. 


ROOM  ENOUGH  FOB  ME 

God's  miracle  of  life  complete, 

Through  morning  gate  I  came. 
So  many  had  preceded  me 

They  scarce  could  find  a  name. 
And  so  they  left  for  me  to  choose, 

Or  make  one  if  I  might. 
I  was  not  long  in  finding  one 

That  suited  me  all  right. 

88 


And  when  they  came  at  last  to  think 

That   name  should  written  be 
Upon  the  Bible  record,  lo! 

There  was  no  room  for  me. 
And  so  they  wrote  lengthwise  the  page 

And  turned  the  corner  well, 
"To  Jacob  and  Adelia  born, 

Anoth  er — Emma  L. ' ' 

They  wrote  the  names  of  every  one 

To  marriage  altar  led. 
I  saw  there  was  no  room  for  mine 

And  so  I  did  not  wed. 
When  I  shall  pass  the  evening  gate, 

And  shall  entombed  be 
It  may  be  in  the  family  lot, 

There'll  not  be  room  for  me. 

But  I  have  oft  consoled  myself, 

'Tis  recompense  you  see, 
That  in  my  loved-ones  hearts  and  homes, 

There 's  room  enough  for  me. 
And  in  the  Book  of  Life  I  know 

My  name  shall  written  be, 
A  mansion  and  my  loved  ones  all, 

And  room  enough  for  me. 


SEND  THEM  BACK  TO  ME 

I  do  not  leave  my  things  about 

Like  some  folks  that  I  know, 
But  pick  them  up  and  care  for  them, 

As  mother  taught  me  to. 
If  in  your  home  I  've  any  left 

Ashamed  I  sure  will  be. 
Just  keep  them,  it  would  serve  me  right, 

Don't  send  them  back  to  me. 

I  have  a  habit,  good  or  bad 

I  '11  leave  for  you  to  tell, 
Of  jotting  down  the  things  I  hear 

Or  see,  that  please  me  well, 
Sometimes  in   jingle,  oft   in   rhyme, 

Or  e'en  real  poetry. 
If  you  should  find  these  scraps  around 

Please  send  them  back  to  me. 

Sometimes  upon  an  envelope, 

A  bit  of  paper  old, 
Or  any  little   thing  that  would 

A  line  of  writing  hold. 
It  may  be  you  '11  not  understand 

My  queer  chyrography. 
And  not  a  sentence  can  you  read, 

Then  send  them  back  to  me. 

89 


Yon  11  think  they  are  of  little  worth 

And  put  them  in  the  fire, 
A  sad  misfortune  that  would  be, 

A  great  disaster  dire. 
I  fear  I've  lost  full  many  a  gem, 

Gathered  on  land  or  sea, 
Don  't  stop  to  criticise  a  line, 

Just  send  them  back  to  me. 

Perhaps  one  day  youl  be  repaid, 

When  in  a  book  you  find 
These  little  gems  all  polished  up, 

These  treasures  of  the  mind; 
Then  you  11  be  glad  and  so  will  I, 

The  reason  you  will  see 
Why  you  should  save  these  little  scraps, 

And  send  them  back  to  me. 


WHEN  I  WAS  A  GIRL 

When  I  was  a  girl  (now  little  ones  list, 

And  gather  about  my  knee, 
And  I  will  relate  a  true  story  of  what 

Once  really  happened  to  me). 
When  I  was  a  girl  (I  was  never  a  kid — 

That  thing  that  you  children  today 
Keep  calling  each  other  and  talking  about 

In  such  a  flip  sort  of  a  way). 

When  I  was  a  girl,  a  sliver  I  thrust 

Bight  into  the  palm  of  my  hand. 
Now  I  never  could  bear  to  have  slivers  pulled  out, 

That  pain  was  too  dreadful  to  stand. 
And  so  I  determined  my  father  should  not 

Hear  a  whisper  about  my  mishap. 
I  put  on  a  smile  and  shut  up  my  hand, 

And  covered  it  up  in  my  lap. 

But  some  little  bird,  for  so  T  was  told, 

Must  have  whispered  the  story  about, 
For  I  heard  father  say  when  he  came  home  at  night 

"That  sliver  must  surely  come  out." 
"Now  my  dear  little  girl,  let  me  tell  you,"  said  he, 

"What  would  certainly  happen  to  you 
If  that  old  ugly  sliver  were  left  in  your  hand, 

It  would  fester,  and  poison  you  too." 

Then  he  gathered  me  up  in  his  fatherly  arms, 

While  my  tears  were  falling  like  rain, 
And  with  one  little  pain  the  sliver  came  out, 

And  then  I  was  happy  again. 
Then  he  taught  me  a  verse  that  was  something  like  this, 

"To  cover  the  bad  is  in  vain, 
We  had  better  confess  it  and  have  it  all  out, 

Than  to  hide  it  and  suffer  with  pain." 

90 


AFRAID  TO  GO  A-FISHINQ 

When  I  wag  young  I  liked  no  fun 

Like  fishing  in  the  river, 
And  when  the  little  fishes  bit, 

It  set  me  all  a-quiver. 
I  used  to  squeal,  and  laugh,  and  yell, 

T  know  my  eyes  would  glisten, 
The  only  trouble  was  with  me 

There  was  no  one  to  listen. 

I  used  to  tease  my  little  chum 

To  go  with  me  a-fishin', 
For  other  one  to  share  my  fun 

I  long  had  been  a-wishin'. 
But  she  was  minded  not  to  go, 

And    would    not    give    the    reason. 
I    thought    'twas    so    unkind    of   her, 

Indeed  I  thought    'twas  treason. 

I  told  her  so  with  injured  look, 

And  said  she  didn't  love  me, 
I  swore  I'd  break  our  friendship  up, 

By  all  that  was  above  me. 
And  so  she  said  she  was  afraid, 

I  scared  her  to  her  liver, 
She  was  afraid  she'd  catch  the  croup, 

She  heard  'twas  down  the  river. 

When  I  rejected  that  she  said, 

She  feared  she  'd  catch  a  measle 
I  knew  she'd  made  up  that  excuse, 

The  cunning  litte  weasle. 
And  when  she  said  she  was  afraid 

She  catch  the  chickenpoxie, 
I   'most  determined  then  and  there 

Her  little  ears  to  boxie. 

She  said  she  was  afraid  she'd  catch 

An  angleworm  or  lizzard, 
She  wouldn't  go  a  single  step, 

It  seared  her  to  her  gizzard. 
I  knew  she'd  made  the  whole  thing  up 

And  told  her  so  with  feelin', 
Told  her  she'd  beg  my  pardon  too, 

And  come  to  me  a-kneelin'. 

Give  me  your  real  reason  now, 

And    don 't   be    long    about   it, 
I  can  not  wait  a  minute  more, 

I  can  not  live  without  it. 
My  real  reason — and  she  looked 

As  though  she  had  a  headful — 
I  am  afraid — I'd  catch — a  fish, 

And    then   I   would    feel    dreadful. 

91 


EASTER  LONGINGS 

I  am  longing  for  you  at  this  Eastertide, 
My  thoughts  fly  to  you  o'er  the  plains  so  wide; 
They  scale  the  heights  of  the  mountains  grand, 
To  bring  greetings  from  this,  God's  wondrous  land. 

I  would  like  to  send  some  of  our  sky  so  blue, 
Or  some  of  our  roses  of  bright  warm  hue, 
Or  some  of  the  lilies  that  grow  by  the  way, 
To  adorn  the  altar  this  Easter  Day. 

Tis  sweet  to  have  Summer  the  whole  year  through, 
But  the  Spring  o '  the  year  brings  its  blessings  too. 
Christ  did  not  suffer  His  death  in  vain — 
We  believe,  when  we  see  the  earth  smile  again. 

Each  new,  green  thing  doth  the  message  tell, 
From  the  smallest  leaf  in  the  buds  that  swell; 
Christ  does  not  today  seem  to  us  remote, 
For  we  hear  His  voice  in  the  glad  bird's  note. 

Yes,  I'm  thinking  of  you  at  this  Eastertide, 
Though  far  in  the  flesh,  near  in  thought  I  abide. 
It  is  sweet  to  have  Summer  the  whole  year  through, 
But  in  Spring,  then  I'm  longing  to  be  with  you. 


MY  TRIP  TO  CAMP  ESTELLE 

Written  on  her  last  vacation,  1921. 

I  was  weary,  and  worn,  and  restless; 

What  I  needed  I  could  not  tell; 
When  a  friend  said,  "Go  to  the  mountains, 

To  the  beautiful  Camp  Estelle." 

So  I  came  to  the  San  Antonio, 
A  canyon  that  suits  me  well, 

And  found  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains 
This  delightful  Camp  Estelle. 

With  the  mountain  peaks  and  boulders 
To  guard  this  sequestered  dell, 

And  our  Shepherd  dog  on  duty, 
We  are  safe  in  this  Camp  Estelle. 

With  the  warblers  that  sing  in  the  treetops, 
And  streams  that  with  music  swell, 

We  never  shall  lack  for  solace 
In  this  musical  Camp  Estelle. 

With  the  study  of  nature  to  charm  you, 
While  at  night  in  the  stars  you  dwell, 

Who  can  tell  what  wealth  you  may  gather, 
At  this  wonderful  Camp  Estelle. 

92 


With  friends  you  may  hold  sweet  converse, 

Or  alone  at  the  evening  knell, 
Commune  with  the  God  of  nature, 

A.t  this  quieting  Camp  Estelle. 

With  hikes  to  the  top  of  the  mountains, 
With  camp-fire,  and  song,  and  yell, 

A  view  of  High  Falls  is  awaiting 
Tour  trip  to  the  Camp  Estelle. 

You  may  climb  to  the  top  of  "Old  Baldy," 
Every  inch  you'll  declare  is  an  ell, 

And  at  night  you  will  long  most  surely 
For  your  cot  at  the  Camp  Estelle. 

Your  needs  are  all  met  in  abundance, 
But  you  long  for  the  dinner  bell, 

And  hunger  is  satisfied  fully, 
At  the  bountiful  Camp  Estelle. 

The  multitudes  throng  to  the  cities, 
For  amusements  they  rush  pellniell; 

Why  don  't  they  go  to  the  mountains, 
To  the  charming  Camp  Estelle? 


WHISPERINQ  STARS 

The  stars  are  shining  brightly  tonight 
Whispering  stars,  what  do  they  say? 

Winking  and  blinking  in  beauty  bright, 
What  do  they  say  to  me? 

What  do  they  say  from  their  home  on  high 

Beautiful  stars,  whisper  away, 
Shining  like  diamonds  in  the  sky; 

What  do  they  say  to  me? 

They  speak  to  me  of  years  long  past, 
Into  forgetf ulness  pased  complete; 

When  first  their  anthems  of  praise  they  cast 
Down  at  their  Maker 's  feet. 

They  speak  to  me  of  an  influence  sweet 
Circling  the  numberless  hosts  around, 

Binding  with  bonds  of  love  complete, 
Binding  without  a  sound. 

Can  we  loosen  the  bands  of  Orion  old? 

Or  bind  with  chains  sweet  Pliades  power? 
Or  pluck  one  star  from  the  crown  of  gold, 

Or  retard  Hercules  one  hour? 

No  more  can  we  check  with  our  feeble  hand, 
The  power  of  an  influence  great  or  small, 

Its  waves  may  roll  on  'till  they  fill  the  land, 
But  ne  'er  to  oblivion  fall. 

93 


The  stars  sing  the  praise  of  their  maker  and  guide, 
Telling  of  majesty,  wisdom  and  power. 

Their  own  ruby  brightness  shall  ever  abide, 
Their  beauty  fades  not  like  the  flower. 

They  whisper  of  robes  for  the  ransomed  throng, 
Glistening  crowns  of  beauty  untold; 

Harps  of  gold  and  a  joyous  song, 
Song  that  shall  never  grow  old. 

They  whisper  of  faith  and  hope  and  love, 
Telling  me  too,  of  a  comforting  rest, 

Of  peace  settling  down  like  a  weary  dove, 
Into  its  silken  nest. 

Then  I'll  nightly  gaze  into  their  faces  bright, 
Learning  the  lesson  they  speak  to  me, 

Shedding  about  my  path  a  light, 
Like  the  beautiful  stars  I'd  be. 


SUNSHINE 

"What    is    the    sunshine?"    asked    a    child,    as    it    sat    upon    the 

floor, 
And  played  with  a  long  and  golden  beam,  that  eame  through  the 

open  door; 
And  the  answer  came  with  a  tender  smile,  from  the  lips  of  the 

mother  dear, 
"It's  the  light  God  sends  to  bless,  to  comfort  us  and  cheer." 

"What  is  this  light?"  said  a  little  bird,  "that  shines  into  my  eyes, 
Will  it  ever  teach  me  how  to  hop  or  soar  into  the  skies?" 
"Oh  no,  my  dear"  said  the  robin  old,  "that  you  must  learn  of  me. 
The  sunlight  comes  to  give  you  strength,  as  it  shines  through  the 
apple-tree." 

"What  is  the  sunshine?"  asked  the  flower,  as  it  peeped  through  its 

petals  green, 
'Tis  the  handsomest  thing  I  ever  saw,  the  brightest  that  ever  was 

seen." 
"The  sunshine,"  answered  old  mother  earth,  "is  the  light  that 

warms  my  bed, 
It   comes    from   the   sky,   above   us   high,   high    over   your   pretty 

head. ' ' 

"What    is   the   sunshine?"   asked    the    blade    of   tender   growing 
corn, 

Of  the  plowboy,  who  with  cheerful  song,  was  hoeing  in  the  morn, 
And  the  boy  replied  with   a  whistle  clear,  "  'Tis   the  light   that 
makes  you  grow, 

It  gives  you  life  in  some  strange  way,  I  cannot  tell  just  how." 

94 


Surshine  is  sent  to  cheer  and  bless  all  things  on  this  earthly  ball, 
Tis  sent  by  our  maker  and  ruler  and  guide,  the  Father  and  friend 

of  ail, 

It  bathes  with  a  flood  of  golden  light,  the  dewey  infant  morn; 
And  rests  as  the  daylight  fades  away,  on  the  shepherd's  evening 
horn. 

It  visits  the  cottage  where  poverty  dwells  and  shines  through  the 

shutters  old, 
It    comforts    the    invalid    on    his    couch,    and    whispers    of    peace 

untold. 
It  falls  through  the  damask  curtain  fair,  of  the  stately  mansion 

grand, 
It  speaks  to  the  old  man  in  the  door,  and  kisses  the  infant's  hand. 

It  falls  on  the  bare  brown  chubby  feet  of  the  school  boy  in  the 

morn, 

It  bids  me  be  cheerful,  happy  and  gay,  and  never  be  once  forlorn, 
Then  we'll  gather  the  sunbeams  in  our  path,  and  praise  the  giver's 

hand, 
Who  sends  like  dewdrops  on  the  grass,  his  sunshine  on  the  land. 


95 


Table  of  Contents  page 

The   Story   of   My  Life 7 

Tributes  to  Character  and  Work 11 

MISSIONARY    GROUP 13 

The  World  Through  Mother's  Glasses 15 

Echoes  of  B.  M.  T.  8 16 

Gleam  and  Gloom  of  India 17 

Haste  the  Day 21 

He  Leadeth  Me 23 

Here  Am  I;   Send  Me 24 

Go  Forth  with  Peace 24 

Following   Jesus 25 

Answered    Prayer 25 

Servants   of   Jesus 26 

North  America  for  Jesus 26 

The  Land  of  Mexico 27 

Russian  Baptist  Mission  of  Los  Angeles 28 

Welcome  to  the  B.  M.  T.  S.  Alumnae  Association 29 

The  Call  of  the  City 29 

Voices  of  the  Women 31 

FAMILY   GROUP 33 

You  and  1 35 

The  Golden  Wedding  Day 35 

Time   King 36 

My  Mother 's  Birthday 37 

The  Love  That  Ne'er  Grows  Cold 38 

Two   Little   Brown   Jugs 3!> 

A  Chain  of  Fifty  Golden  Links 40 

The  Ruby  Wedding  Day 4 1 

Undressing   the   Baby 4  3 

To   Bertram   Youde 4  3 

Home  at  Last 44 

My   Sister's   Silver   Wedding 44 

For  My  Sister's  Album 45 

To  Our  Friends  from  the  Sunflower  State 46 

PALESTINE   GROUP 49 

Memories  of  the  Holy  Land 51 

The  Jewish  Wailing  Place 52 

Flowers  of  Palestine «p>3 

Children  of  Nazereth J>4 

On  the  Beautiful  Galilee 55 

Gethsemene 06 

The  Garden  of  Gethsemene _ -57 

The  Jerusalem  Water   Boy 58 

The  Egyptian  Donkey  Boy 58 

96 


Table  of  Contents — Continued  page 

MISCELLANEOUS   GROUP 61 

Emancipation  Day 63 

Bells  of  the  Easter  Morning 65 

Woman's    Kingdom 66 

Toddy  Kocks 67 

A  Winter  in  Wisconsin 69 

The  Music  of  the  Heart 71 

Where's  the  Mother  of  That  Child? -. 72 

Mona   Lisa 74 

The    Shepherdess '    Lullaby 74 

My  Eobin 75 

My   Kittie 76 

Old  Glory 77 

Bells  of  Christmas  Morning 77 

Thanksgiving  Day 78 

I  Love  the  West 79 

The  Baptist  of  the  West 80 

Khymes    of    Blickensderfer 80 

Tribute  to  the  Life  of  Mrs.  J.  Q.  A.  Henry 81 

March,  September,  Number  Thirteen 82 

For  My  Friend 's   Album 82 

Going  Up  Fool's  Hill 83 

Bells    of    Easter    Morning 83 

Welcome   to   All 84 

Galilee  84 

The  Song  of  the  Angels 85 

The  Lord  Hath  Spoken  to  My  Heart 85 

Consecration    86 

Thy  Will  Be  Done 87 

Solitude  87 

In  My  Quiet  Cove  Secure 88 

Boom  Enough  for  Me 88 

Send  Them  Back  to  Me „  89 

When  I  Was  a  Girl 90 

Afraid  to  Go  A-Fishing 91 

Easter  Longings 92 

My  Trip  to  Camp  Estelle 92 

Whispering   Stars '...  93 

Sunshine   ..  94 


97 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


PS          Miller  - 
2584       The  world 
M613w     through  Mother 
glasses 


PS 
2394 


iSSS™*  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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